Aftermath
by Animorphgirl
Summary: Follows Amanda’s life after surviving Jigsaw’s trap with flashbacks to her earlier life. Coincides with the events in the movies. Finally updated!
1. Chapter 1

Bright light streamed in through the single window, revealing a small room with grey walls and a girl with brown hair shaking under the oversized orange comforter. She could feel the warmth from the light, but she could also feel the sweat from her body, no doubt caused by nightmares, moistening every inch of Amanda's upper body. Even her head felt wet, and she shuddered despite the heat. Amanda Young knew that only by showering could she alleviate herself from this filth. She ached to feel cold water pouring around her.

Even more she yearned for the water to cleanse her of the events that had taken place less than twenty-four hours ago. Yet she could not get up. More than that, opening her eyes seemed beyond Amanda's ability. What if they opened only to reveal a place worse than where she had been held captive yesterday?

She let out a low whimper at the memory of that night. Thinking about it was too painful. _Thinking _was agony. Yet the memories had released themselves and, in flashes, Amanda recalled the events of the night before. Mostly it came in split second images, but her mind dwelled on the puppet. The puppet that had told her what she had to do in order to survive, and once she had accomplished that, declaring that she now appreciated life after she hacked into the man's body to find the key.

Amanda groaned as she recalled the man. The puppet said he was dead, but she could have sworn she saw his eyes move as she plunged the knife into his heart. He didn't say anything, but she was fairly certain the "dead cellmate" had been just as alive as she felt now.

That is, not at all.

How could she appreciate life when there was a serial killer still out there, possibly still after her, who had caught Amanda once? It had been all Amanda could do to stay alive. She couldn't face any more traps.

She brought the blanket over her mouth to stifle a scream. The man could be after her right now. _Hell_, she realized, _he could be standing in this room!_

Automatically, her eyes opened and searched the room. No one was there. Amanda's heart raced. He could be hiding. Under the bed, or in the closet. Or even right outside the door. Perhaps even outside of her window. So what if it was locked? He could find a way in.

Amanda stumbled out of bed, searched for a weapon, but found nothing. Tentatively, she looked under her bed then, moving her head so quickly she almost strained her neck, walked over to the window. No one was there.

_Just two more places. Two more fucking places. C'mon, you can do this,_ she told herself.

She approached the closet carefully, almost reverently. She swung the door open and switched on the light, but aside from a few skirts and shirts belonging to Amanda, the room was empty. Try as she might, she couldn't see anyone there.

She spun around again, thinking that the killer might have switched hiding places while she was searching. But no, the door was still closed. Taking a deep breath, Amanda opened the door, and found no one there. She sighed with a mixture of fear and relief. She let herself shut her eyes as she moved back to the bed. As sweat covered as she was, Amanda suddenly felt freezing. No amount of blankets could warm her up.

Eyes still closed, Amanda ran her tongue around her teeth. The taste of blood was still there, but it was faint. As soon as she stumbled into her sister's apartment last night, she raced to the bathroom to brush away the taste of blood, steel, and the vomit which occurred afterwards. She must have brushed for at least a half an hour, pausing every few minutes to add more toothpaste to the brush.

Amanda let out the breath she hadn't realized she had been holding.

Then she coughed. And coughed until it hurt to breathe. Gagging, she ran to the bathroom and knelt beside the toilet. Gunk poured out of her throat. Probably more vomit, she realized.

When she rose, she saw a large, towering figure standing over her.

"Hung over again?"

Her sister, Elizabeth. Liz to those who knew better.

Amanda jumped and shrieked, tripping on the tiled floor. "God, don't scare me."

Liz rolled her pale blue eyes and tentatively held a hand out. "Get up, you idiot."

Amanda accepted the hand as her face reddened. "Thanks."

Liz didn't seem to hear her. "You stink," she was saying. "You didn't come home last night before I went to bed. We agreed about this, Mandy. I know all your life is about getting high, but don't you think I have the right to make sure you're not dead before I get some sleep?"

Amanda made no answer. Yes, it was true. It was one of the few rules—well, explicit rules, anyway—that Liz had made when Amanda showed up wanting to move in. Neither sister wanted Amanda there, and it was only because there had been nowhere else to go that they both accepted the situation. Usually, Amanda could handle Liz's nagging. Today, it was hard enough to stand up without falling.

"Where were you?" Liz demanded, circling her sister.

Not an easy thing to do in the miniature bathroom.

Amanda was silent, but Liz guessed the truth. Or part of it, anyway. "_Another_ club? Don't you know those guys put date rape drugs in your drink and give you their STDs?"

Had she been at a bar last night? Images flashed through Amanda's head. A dark haired man with black, slightly pointy hair. Taking a few sips of beer and then passing out. A dark alley. Yeah, that must have been what happened.

"Don't you ever learn?" Liz was dragging her back to the guestroom by her elbow. "I'm not your babysitter."

"I know." Amanda's voice cracked. "I need coffee."

Liz snorted. "Not to mention a shower."

Amanda started to walk to the bathroom again, but Liz's arm wouldn't let go.

"Stay here," she barked. She glanced around the room. "This whole place needs cleaning." She pushed Amanda towards the bed, pulling off the covers and sheets in one movement. "I'll get these started. Also my bath." She frowned. Liz never let Amanda use her private bathroom, but apparently the situation was desperate enough. "_Stay there_," she commanded. "I'll be back in a few minutes."

She left without bothering to wait for her sister's answer. Amanda, in spite of herself, smiled. As her father had always said, Liz certainly wasn't the screw up in the family.

Not that she didn't have her flaws.

Thoughts plagued her as she waited, the main one being if she should go to the police. She had a fairly good idea of where she had been trapped. It was in an abandoned building not far from her apartment building that, Amanda believed, used to be a warehouse.

If the police found out, she could be convicted for murder. Maybe. The voice on the TV said "dead cellmate", but his eyes had been open, so he could have been alive, but drugged. Of course, if Amanda hadn't cut into him to get the key, he might have died from the explosion's impact. Or the guy could have murdered him after seeing Amanda fail. _Or_ he could have died any minute from the overdose.

His time was limited. Hers wasn't. The police would understand that.

Still, what if the voice found out that she reported him and punished her? She had enough memories of what had happened the night before to last her several years. If that had just been a trap, with a chance that she could escape (and had, obviously), whatever punishment the voice had for her would be much worse.

Amanda realized that she had better keep quiet unless the police found the site on their own and called her in. _Then_ she would worry about what the voice would do to her.

In the meantime, Amanda just needed to say nothing. Let Liz think that she came back drunk the previous night after a crazy night out. Also, stay off drugs because that would surely incite the voice's displeasure. That would be harder, of course. Amanda relied on heroin to get her high at least twice a week.

Maybe a rehab program. Not that there were many in the area.

She scoffed. That was the first place the killer would look.

Liz entered the room, and as she dragged Amanda by the elbow out of her own solitary space in the entire apartment, Amanda felt almost safe. He wouldn't kidnap her again if she just stayed put.


	2. Chapter 2

It had been an easy decision for Amanda not to go to the police, but she remained glued to the TV during the days that followed. Mostly, she watched the news, wanting to know if the puppet man had been arrested, or the crime scene identified. Her story was on several times—apparently, it was a big deal for someone to escape from these traps. Two policemen went over the details about past victims who had not made it out in time. Both were male. The first one had been guilty of pretending to be sick, so the puppet man (or Jigsaw, as the police called him) had injected him with a poison and placed the antidote in a safe.

"Sounds easy enough, right?" asked one of the police. "Well, with Jigsaw there's always a catch. The man was smeared with a flammable substance in a dark room with only a candle to be able to read the numbers on the wall. To make matters even more tricky, shards of glass were spread out over the room. Clearly done with the intention of making the victim lose his balance and set himself on fire."

The TV cameras flashed to the crime scene, revealing a heavily burned corpse. Amanda felt ready to vomit.

"Clearly, the victim did not make it."

The camera flashed to another scene, showing a heavy corpse encased in barb wire. Much like the first trap, this took place in a small and enclosed room, filled completely with wire. Amanda gasped as the same policeman began to explain what happened.

"This man, apparently, had a problem with injuring himself with razors. As a result, Jigsaw decided to test him in a way that would force him to cut himself. There was a door on the other side of the room which, we are extrapolating, was open at the time of the test. If the victim did not reach the door in the allotted period of time, it would close." The screen showed the door bolted shut. "Medical evidence states that this man climbed through the wires so quickly that he had bled to death before he was halfway across the room."

Amanda almost snorted at that test. If only that had been hers, instead of the reverse bear trap. She was an expert in dealing with pain that came from cutting, and the wires could not be much worse than a razor blade. Granted, Amanda never cut herself on multiple parts at once, but if her life was at stake…His test had been pitifully easy, and still he failed.

"Recent evidence shows that Jigsaw has acted again." The camera panned to the room that Amanda had woken up in, and for a moment Amanda found herself unable to breathe. "Although there is a dead corpse present—" There was a short pause for the camera to focus in on the dead body, "—it appears that Jigsaw's intended victim was able to escape. Due to a missing tape, we are unable to ascertain for sure what the victim was intended to, but investigators believe that this object—" The camera pointed to the reverse bear trap "—was attached to the victim, probably about the face, and the victim was supposed to disassemble the trap within a given period of time. We can conclude that the corpse somehow had access to whatever tool that would neutralize the trap, and the victim managed to pass the test."

Neutralize the trap…disassemble the trap…they all sounded like such poor and technical terms for what Amanda had been required to do. She wanted to shout, "He had that thing on my fucking head and the key was in the fucking body!" but Liz was making dinner and she didn't want some nosy neighbor to overhear. The walls were paper thin, Amanda knew.

"So far, we have to wait until the DNA evidence is gathered before taking further steps, but we find this exciting because we may come face to face with one of Jigsaw's survivors. Once we catch their heinous murderer, the victim's testimony can only help to ensure that he is locked up for good."

"Detective, do you believe that locking the Jigsaw killer up will stop the slaughtering?" asked the announcer in a bemused tone of voice. "Such a mastermind must have people working under him."

Here, the detective shrugged. "We can only hope that by disarming the leader, whatever followers that may exist will realize it is in their best interest to stop." Here he paused and the TV camera zoomed in on his face. "Let it be known that the Jigsaw killer has made a grave mistake in allowing this person to go free, and it will ultimately result in his—or her—undoing."

"Do we know for sure that the victim is still living?"

"We wait for DNA tests to confirm our results," the detective repeated. "Certain details concerning the victim may be kept silent, if this victim is still alive, for fear of retribution. We will know within a few days whether the DNA belongs to someone who is still alive."

With that, there was a commercial break. Amanda's heart was pounding almost completely out of her chest. The victim the police were talking about…that was her. They'd find her immediately because her DNA was on file. She didn't think that they'd send her back to prison—not for life, anyway—because they needed her testimony against Jigsaw. She remembered watching TV shows where someone who killed completely out of spite was given a lesser sentence in exchange for his testimony against a larger killer. Amanda hadn't killed out of spite…why, she had barely registered that the man was alive before she had plunged the knife into him. The largest problem, Amanda realized, was not what the police would do to her but what Jigsaw would do to her after they were through with her. He'd probably kill her hands on next time…

As a result of this information, whenever the phone rang over the next several days, Amanda's face would turn white and she would momentarily stop breathing. Whenever she heard a knock on the apartment door, her heart would stop and then race so quickly that Amanda thought Liz must be able to hear it.

Amanda stayed in the apartment during this time. She knew that doing so would get her fired, but she didn't care. The idea of leaving the apartment and seeing other people was too much to handle. Maybe if she just stayed put, the police wouldn't know where she was living and give up on finding her and making her testify. Besides, she knew that _he_ would be watching her and he would capture her again if she dared to leave her home.

Of course, Amanda realized that he probably had advanced technology and was spying at her inside from miles away. You couldn't create those kinds of traps without being rich. Amanda had never seen anything like the trap she had worn before, and she imagined that even if it did exist elsewhere, it must be rare. So not much was beyond his power.

Yet if he was watching and planning to kill her, he was taking his time. Perhaps he wanted to catch Amanda the next time she left her home, or the next time she fell into drugs. There must be others working for him. Maybe he was a terrorist, or working for a terrorist agency.

She closed her eyes, sighed, and tried to take a deep breath. It didn't work. As she inhaled, she tasted the metal and the blood. Had the blood been hers? Perhaps she was now infected with some disease. She should get tested. But this would mean leaving the apartment. If she was sick, she probably had longer to live if she remained where she was than if she took the chance at capture.

As Amanda pondered this, she paced back and forth in her room so she didn't hear the doorbell. It wasn't large. A few steps in any direction took her to a wall. But it was something.

"Mandy!" shouted her sister. "Police are here and they want to see you."

Damn.

It was over. She was either going back to jail right away–which might be preferable to being captured again—or going to have to answer some questions that would result in her being sent to jail. She tried to steady her breathing and realized that she was crying. This would not be surprising for anyone else but Amanda was used to being able to keep a level head.

For the most part.

"Coming." Her voice sounded harsh and scratchy, as though she had a sore throat.

She walked into what Liz called the "living room", but the only part of the room that made it livable was a TV. Even that was ten years old.

Two officers waited there, still standing. One was Chinese and looked to be in his thirties. The other was black, and more elderly. She recognized the Chinese one from the news, but the black officer was a mystery. At least they didn't have Detective Matthews with them…

"Amanda Young?" the Chinese man asked.

"Yeag…" Amanda cleared her throat. "Yeah. That's me."

"You are familiar with the Jigsaw case?"

Amanda paused. Should she lie? Did they know for a fact that it was really her they were looking for?

"We have evidence that links your DNA to a case our force has been working on for several months. We need you to come to the station and testify," explained the black one.

"C-can't we do it here?" she asked.

The black cop narrowed his eyes. "Why?"

Fortunately, Liz answered so that Amanda didn't have to. "She hasn't left the place in days. No idea why, but at least she's not out screwing guys."

Amanda didn't bother yelling at Liz to shut up, something she would have done without hesitation before her capture.

"How'd you know where to find me?" she asked, for lack of anything better to say.

"We received an anonymous tip, possibly from the Jigsaw killer himself, that you lived here," the Chinese man explained.

"I'm Detective Tapp and that's Detective Sing," the black man said. "We've been working on a case for awhile and given that you're alive, we think you could be important to getting the killer."

"What do you want to know?" Amanda asked, voice shaky and so quiet it must have been a strain for the detectives to hear her.

"Ever hear of the Jigsaw Killer?" Tapp asked.

"Not before I was kidnapped by him."

"Mandy never follows the news," Liz interjected. "I suppose most people her age don't, but she's been watching intensely the last few days."

Liz seemed to forget that she was only a few years older than her sister.

"Ms. Young, we found your DNA around the crime scene of an unidentified man who suffered from a drug overdose but appeared to have died by being stabbing to death. Your fingerprints were on the weapon." He paused. "We left some of this information hidden while filming the news segment, but it is easy to prove that you have killed an unsuspecting man."

Amanda barely flinched. "Meaning?"

"If you don't come with us to the police station and agree to testify, we can have you charged for manslaughter."


	3. Chapter 3

"Manslaughter?" Amanda had dealt with jerks like Matthews before, always trying to frame people who _hadn't_ done anything wrong in order to set an example and scare of the truly guilty. Still, no one had ever gone this far. She was a drug addict, yes, and she may have killed an unconscious and helpless man, but what would they have done in her situation? Just sat there and let the trap go off?

It was clearly a bluff to get her to cooperate with them. They needed her to convict the Jigsaw murderer. In order to get her testimony, they had to pretend that they would get her for something much worse. It would be to her benefit to make a deal with the police and lessen her own sentence.

If prison kept her from Jigsaw, though, then it wasn't much of a punishment…

"The tape said he was dead," Amanda declared stubbornly.

The policemen exchanged glances. This was the most life Amanda had shown since they had first seen her. They also knew that Jigsaw tended to leave instructions for his victims, either on a cassette player or a tape, and one _had_ been missing at the scene of Amanda's trap…

This meant that either Amanda had stolen the tape or Jigsaw had destroyed it. Perhaps he did that when his victims survived…or planned to. Tapp was pretty sure Amanda was the first victim that survived.

"You're not on trial for murder," Tapp began.

"Not yet, anyway," Sing interjected. The older detective glared at him, and he fell silent.

"But Jigsaw is a murderer and your presence can help us to locate him," Tapp explained, standing up. "So, in exchange for your cooperation, we'll give you our protection."

This was somewhat of a bluff. They needed Amanda to be protected, regardless of whether or not she revealed any details of what had happened. Even if Amanda wouldn't tell her story, they could still force her to testify at Jigsaw's trial, if they ever got him there. Amanda had a level of power even if she tried to refuse.

Amanda remained seated. "If I go with you, he'll find me again and he _will_ kill me. He's not human…no human can do what he does and get away with it. You haven't found him yet and you won't because he doesn't _want_ to be found."

"Don't worry about that," Sing sneered. "You're valuable enough for us to take precautions. At least until it's all official and down on paper. Someone can escort you back—someone trained and armed. But you will come with us unless you want to be convicted for some of your other crimes."

Here, Tapp laid out a very thick manila folder. "You will come with us."

"Yes, Mandy," Liz said, returning and actually pushing her to the door. "And when they're done with you, feel free to get your things, but I want you out by this evening. I don't give up my apartment to murderers."

The detectives took this as permission to drag her out of the apartment. Amanda was livid at Liz. Hadn't her sister known her long enough to realize that Amanda would never kill someone? Well, not on purpose, and certainly not someone who was helpless.

She _could_ give Liz a few broken bones now, and she could easily do the same to Matthews. Even the police weren't among her favorite people.

_Just cooperate,_ she told herself. _Give them the story, let them arrest you, and you'll never have to worry about Jigsaw again. Drugs are easier to get in prison, anyway, and you already have some connections…_

She almost nodded. Perhaps it was better to let them think that she was guilty. Guilty enough to be kept safe from Jigsaw.

She knew that outside of prison, Jigsaw would be able to find her no matter how many police were guarding her. He could kill them. It was as Amanda had said before to the same cops. He was some kind of super human…it was like he was impossible to kill or had some other kind of power. She knew, as easily as she knew that Liz was her biological sister or Mike had once been the love of her life, that the police would never be able to stop Jigsaw.


	4. Chapter 5

Amanda glared at her sister. "You're kicking me out?"

They had never been close, exactly. Liz had been the good one in the family, but it didn't mean much in the long run. Neither girl had gone to college because their parents couldn't afford the expense. Liz had received some offers offering her as much as half off, but even this meant she would have to get student loans and start paying back immediately after graduating. It hadn't seemed worth it, so Liz started working at Kmart and moved out as soon as she could afford to do so. Their parents lived maybe half as well as Liz did.

Amanda had tried to get a job as a waitress without a great deal of success. She always had a job, but rarely at the same place for more than a few months at a time. Sick of her parents' rules and overpowering attitude, she moved in with her boyfriend, Mike, when she was eighteen. It seemed like a good idea because although she didn't know exactly what he did, he seemed to make enough money.

Looking back, Amanda thought it was probably one of her worse decisions. It wasn't because Mike was abusive or anything. As far as the other guys Amanda had dated, he was probably the best. Mike lived in an apartment on a nice area of the city—not upper class, but far enough from the gangs—helped to get Amanda a job as a waitress not far from the apartment, and (best of all) never made forced Amanda to have sex when she didn't feel like it.

What she hadn't known was that Mike earned money from dealing drugs. He didn't take them, though, just sold them to others. He got her involved with minor trafficking and that was how she had been arrested. As far as she knew, Mike was still selling drugs.

Amanda spent two years in jail and was nearly twenty-one by the time they let her go. By then, she had no money and no knowledge of Mike's whereabouts. Apparently, he had moved. She did manage to locate her sister, and showed up at her apartment hoping to crash until she got a job, expecting only to be there for a few weeks.

Liz let her stay but clearly regretted her decision when she found out that Amanda got addicted to heroin, and cutting herself, while in jail. She made it clear that she wasn't going to finance Amanda's drug problem and if Amanda got arrested, it was her problem. As far as addictions went, Amanda's wasn't terrible. She shot up a few times a week, often when she was stressed or depressed. The only problem was that in order to secure her the pure heroin that she used, she had to get another job as a stripper (and often doing other things for male visitors) in addition to her job as a waitress. Between the two, Amanda made at least five hundred dollars a week, but after paying for drugs and helping her sister with "the rent", she was lucky if she had fifty left over. Three years later, Amanda had found herself in Jigsaw's trap.

Amanda felt as though the world had started spinning in slow motion as the police grabbed her and took her to the car. They had handcuffed her, insisting that it was just a safety precaution, and removed them as soon as they entered a small room inside of the police station.

"We just need you to speak your story while we record it," Tapp explained, upon removing the handcuffs.

Amanda rubbed her abused wrists as she spoke. "Fine."

She told the story and kept expecting Jigsaw to appear at any moment. Even though Tapp and Sing had guns, she had a strange feeling that Jigsaw couldn't be killed by mere bullets. Stupid, maybe, but he seemed super human in her memory. Who else could have created such a hellish contraption?

Once she finished speaking, the police asked her a few questions that she couldn't remember later, and responded in what must have been a satisfactory way. The police said they'd be in touch, but she was free to go.

The police took her back to the apartment. Liz was out. Amanda hadn't been officially kicked out, and anyway, if Liz was serious Amanda still had some stuff she needed to pack.

Once they left, Amanda crept over to her closet, where she kept her reserve stash of heroin. She hadn't used any since the trap, and her body felt its absence. She turned on the light and shut the door behind her as she filled one of her last clean needles.

There was enough for maybe three more decent highs. After that, Amanda would have to either quit, cold turkey, or start leaving the apartment and continue her job as a stripper. Of course, if Liz was kicking her out, she'd have to leave anyway…

She felt her body relaxing as the drug kicked in. Then panic spread. This wasn't the pure stuff. She began to cough, and then vomit.

Just before she passed out, she saw the face of an elderly man looking at her, concerned. He said something, but Amanda couldn't hear him.

Everything went black.


	5. Chapter 6

When Amanda awoke to the feeling of being cushioned with pillows on her back and blankets around her body, she knew she was not at her sister's apartment. For one thing, she was too comfortable to be back, and too warm. Not the putrid kind that she had woke up to for the past several days, her shirt soaked with the sweat that she could smell almost as soon as she could feel. Instead, she felt as though she had slept normally, or, what which was more likely, drugged. She was comfortable for the first time in what felt like ages, and had no memory of having any nightmares.

She also didn't hear any of the familiar noises from Liz's apartment, like the washing machine running, people on the street (or in the hallway), or Liz making any noise.

It was silent.

If Amanda hadn't felt so comfortable then, that alone would have freaked her out.

Still, she didn't open her eyes at first. She could not remember when or where she had last fallen asleep. Her previous experience with this was negative. The most vivid memory that came to mind was also her first one. Seventeen, while at a party celebrating her class' graduation from high school, waking up in her own vomit from one too many drinks. A trip to the doctor later that day told her that her system was clear of drugs, but she was no longer a virgin. Amanda had planned to wait, if not until marriage, then at least until she fell in love, before having sex. If she had been pregnant –she hadn't—she wouldn't have had the first clue who the father was.

Often, when she was a child, she'd wake up somewhere in the apartment that wasn't her room. More often than not, it was on the floor, arms and/or legs hurting from being hit...on the filthy carpet if she was lucky. Most of the time, she wasn't. Her parents abused her and Liz, but her more. Amanda's dad especially. Always when he was drunk, but often when he was sober. He'd hit her, but mostly yell at her and then drag her by her arms (if she was lucky) into a dark room. Or the bathroom. Sometimes he'd make her have sex with him, but mostly he just locked the door and leave her alone. For hours.

If Amanda screamed, he'd leave her there longer. But if she didn't scream, he'd forget about her and a whole day could pass before someone let her out. If it was her dad, he'd probably start hitting her again.

Her mom had been so weak, but Amanda couldn't place too much blame on her. If she had been around the house more, her husband probably would have hit her, too. She worked as a waitress and her dad spent most of what he could find on beer or gambling. He was good at gambling, but he never quit when he was ahead, so he always lost everything.

He father didn't have a steady job. He said it was because most people didn't hire people without collee degrees (her mom had a two year college degree, he pointed out, and all she could do was wait on people), but Amanda thought it was more likely because he was lazy, unfocused, and drunk at least half of the time.

Not that she would ever tell him this.

Unfortunately, his lack of work meant more time at home. That meant more time he could spend getting drunk. So whenever Amanda or Liz came home from school, or from a friend's house, or even from doing a chore for their mother, he was there. It seemed like he was drunk or hitting them all of the time, but Amanda knew it was just her childish mind that thought that. He hit her regularly, and locked her away even more regularly, but it was rarely more than once a day.

The abuse stopped when she was sixteen. Or if it continued, Amanda was immune to it. Liz got hit, but not as much. Liz was the "good girl" in the family because she did well at school, so Amanda was, by default, the bad one. After Amanda graduated high school and left her parents' house, waking up unaware turned out to be even more frightening than waking up in a locked closet.

Memories invaded her. She couldn't help it.

Nineteen. Waking up in jail. She had been sentenced to six months for harboring drugs. She must have passed out trying to escape, trying to fight off the police. Probably they used sedatives that time. Amanda had woken up lying on the floor, her head aching, and with a bruised leg caused by –she suspected—one of the other inmates who had taken an instant disliking to her.

Then there was the most recent event of just over a week ago. Or what she thought was a week ago. Could have been longer, depending on what day it was. Waking up with the taste of metal and blood in her mouth, the trap pushing down on her gums so hard that they bled easily. Discovering that she might have only a few more minutes to live.

It was understandable that, in spite of all appearances to the contrary, Amanda suspected the worst. Her eyes remained tightly shut.

But her involuntary movements did not go undetected. She could feel, if not hear, someone walk over to where she lay. She bit her tongue, hoping the pain would stop her from screaming.

A hand landed on her shoulder, completely taking Amanda by surprised. She let out a high pitched noise that a passerby might have mistaken for a frightened dog or cat.

Her eyes involuntarily sprang open.

A old man hovered over her, looking concerned. His age could have been anywhere from fifty to one hundred. Her face was pale, sunken. Wrinkles had begun to form. His eyes seemed attentive, not threatening. Short blond hair came out of the bottom half of his head, disheveled yet clearly thin. Balding.

The man's appearance surprised her. By the look of his clothes (black sweatshirt and jeans), he was not an orderly. Perhaps he worked for the police?

Amanda tried to sit up and found that she could do so without much trouble. As she did so, she noted the color of the top blanket on her (dark blue, almost navy) and saw that her arms did not appear to chained. Nor did the upper half of her body. As for the bottom half…she moved her legs discreetly and did not feel anything that shouldn't be there.

She ran her tongue around her teeth. Nothing was hooked onto them this time.

She breathed a sigh of relief and started to look around.

Just as Amanda was starting to calm down, she saw a needle connected to a plastic tube in her right arm. She squinted and turned. The tube was connected to some bag and then to a medical device not five feet away from her.

It didn't hurt her, but it was enough. She let out a low groan.

_Great. It's another game_, she thought, resigned. At this point, she just didn't care.

But why was he here? Why not just send the instructions via the puppet, like he had done before? Amanda sighed and tried to prepare herself for the worst.

The worst never arrived.

The man's hand had remained on her shoulder this whole time, and he was now murmuring soothing yet unintelligible words. The hand pressed forward on her shoulder, as though trying to get Amanda to lay still. When this did not work, the other hand had joined the same shoulder, not forcibly restraining her, but making it that much harder to move. Amanda, already weak, decided it was not worth it to make the additional effort. She stiffened.

Having achieved its purpose, the second hand loosed its grip somewhat and then began to move back and forth in what felt like a comforting manner. Then the hand pressed against her forehead. Bits of hair stuck temporarily to the clammy hand when the man finally removed it. Amanda whimpered. Still terrified, Amanda's heart began to pound and she could feel her chest moving against the blankets as she struggled to fill her lungs. Tears began to fill in her eyes.

"Stop..." she began, then stopped. She could hardly hear herself speak. She began to cough. Had he poisoned her?

The same hand pressed against her shoulder. She winced.

"It's all right. I won't hurt you, Amanda."

His voice was gentle. But how did he know her name? Of course, Amanda could easily guess. She was just feigning ignorance to remain in the dark.

But he didn't have to know that.

She tried, yet again, to speak but found she could only cough. She cleared her throat and tried again. Throughout this, the hands remained on her shoulder. She did not know whether to feel consoled or terrified by this.

"Who are you?" she managed.

"I'm John Kramer." The voice, though familiar, was soft and lacked any menacing or evil quality to it.

"Where am I?" She knew her voice betrayed her panic.

"The exact location does not matter." Her eyebrows shot up in alarm. "You're at my house," John added quickly, as though attempting to pacify her.

Now she remembered. Just moments into her high, he had opened the door to her room. No, the closet. Right. He had started to say something but, somehow, Amanda had collapsed. She was pretty sure he hadn't caused it. He must have taken her with him while she was out and couldn't protest.

Nausea filled her. He was going to put her in another trap. Or "game", as the police had explained he called them. Never traps, because trap made it sound as if there was no way out. A game, on the other hand, made the test sound enjoyable (misleadingly, of course—no one had fun during the traps except Jigsaw) and with a good chance of victory.

"Oh, God," she murmured. Usually she would have used expletives, but Amanda's brain felt too slow to come up with good swear words. All that she could think of was "crap", and that was just lame. She felt herself cover her face with her hands. "What did you do to me?" she whimpered.

John removed her hands, gently, and once she could see, she noticed that he had raised his eyebrows. "You should thank me. Whatever drug you took sent your body into some kind of shock. I was lucky to arrive when I did."

As he spoke, he walked across the room, found a chair, and with great effort dragged it next to Amanda's bed. Breathing heavily, he sat down. Amanda couldn't imagine why it would take such concentration. The chair looked fairly light. Dark red with a large cushion positioned in the middle. Couldn't be more than thirty pounds. But she knew that in her current state, it wouldn't have been much easier.

Amanda shook her head and tried to recall what had happened _before _passing out. _Of course_. The heroin…

Amanda had kept a stash of heroin in her room, locked away, in case she couldn't get out for a few days. She could have sworn it was the expensive stuff, the pure stuff, but she had bought some from a cheaper guy several months ago. That had been when she was hospitalized for the overdose. It must have gotten mixed with her reserves and Amanda had forgotten to throw it away when she came back.

Liz had taken Amanda to the hospital the first time. They classified it as an overdose and said she was lucky her sister got her there in time. The second time it happened, it must have been this guy who had saved her life.

Given that he had tried to kill her before, Amanda felt mildly freaked out by this realization. She knew that she was going to pay for it.

"Thank you," she muttered, still trying to hold onto what little self control she possessed.

John smiled. "I took you to my house and gave you the necessary medicine for stabilizing your body. Then, you started to go through withdraw so I started you on other medications. That's what you're on now," John added, nodding to the needle. "You were unconscious for several days, aside from a few moments here and there. I gave you food and water at those time so you wouldn't dehydrate." He paused. "I was beginning to worry about you, but then you woke up for real just now."

"W-why?" Amanda shook her head. None of this made sense. First, he had tried to kill her. Now, if she believed him, John had gone out of his way to save her.

She was trying hard to ignore the obvious question running through her brain: what had he been doing in the apartment?

"I was concerned for you. I didn't want you to die," John replied, as though that explained everything. "This is the first time you've been awake, truly awake, so the medication seems to be working. I'm not a doctor, so even with textbooks, I could only guess."

"What are you going to do to me after I'm well? Put me in another game? I didn't learn my lesson too well the first time."

Amanda knew she shouldn't taunt him but couldn't help it. She was angry, angry at Jigsaw for what he had done to her that night. Angry with him for the nightmares he caused. Sure, he had saved her, but he would probably make the next game that much harder. She should have died from the overdose.

But John was shaking his head. "No more games," he promised gravely. "I just want you to get well."

"Why?"

No one's motives were ever that pure. Especially not serial killers.

He didn't answer right away. When he did speak, it was about something else entirely.

"Are you warm enough? Or are you hungry, thirsty?" He was walking around her bed, smoothing down the blankets and tucking the edges under her body.

Amanda couldn't remember receiving this kind of care from anyone except her parents (and that had been when she was much younger, and rarely) and Mike. It was alien, and it freaked her out.

"I'm fine," she stated, wishing he would stop. Then she realized that wasn't the truth. "I am kind of hungry. And thirsty," she added, not looking at him.

Was it safe? Would he poison her? Anything was possible. But poisoning was probably quicker, and less painful, than playing one of his games. So maybe she should hope for that.

"I'll be right back," John promised, now brushing back some hair from her forehead.

No one had done that since she was a child, and Amanda wanted to enjoy it, but she couldn't. She shivered under his touch and pulled the covers up against her chin.

John sighed, left, and she looked around lazily. The room was not exactly bare, but her bed was in an empty part of it. She saw now that it was pushed against two white walls. When she had sat up, her back had brushed against one of these walls. The bed had no boards that typically marked the head and the foot.

The machine Amanda was connected to made a rhythmic beeping noise and she thought it must measure her heart rate. Green lines showed what she assumed was a normal pulse.

Mistrust filled her as she recognized her opportunity. Should she try to make a run for it? Amanda didn't know what drugs were connected to the needle in her body. Without them, she could die within minutes. Maybe. Was it worth it to take that chance?

Before Amanda could make up her mind, John had entered the room holding a tray with food. She could smell eggs and saw that her favorite food in the world, pancakes, were also there. Orange juice was next to the plate containing the pancakes and the eggs, poured in a tall glass. A straw sat in the middle of the glass. Next to the eggs were strawberries, and off to the corner sat a glass of water with a few sunflowers poking out.

John sat the tray in front of her, moving the legs so that it stood on its own, and then resumed his seat. Her stomach growled. Tentatively, Amanda took a small bite of the eggs. Somewhat cold, but normal tasting. She tried the pancakes and discovered the same. He had probably made the food before she woke up. Still, the fruit was good. As was the juice.

Starving, Amanda devoured everything. She couldn't remember the last time she had eaten a full meal, and even the cold factor didn't stop the eggs and pancakes from going down easily.

When she had eaten all of the food on the tray, John carefully removed it and placed it on the ground beside her. Amanda tried to smother a yawn. The effort to eat had exhausted her. Or was it the effort to try to discern John's motives?

But she wasn't sure if it was safe to sleep. Or even if Jigsaw wanted her to. She turned to him, as though seeking permission with her eyes.

"Thank you," she mumbled, realizing he probably expected thanks for his hospitality.

He knelt down next to her and wrapped his arms around her, clearly trying to give her a hug but succeeding only in almost suffocating her. Throughout this awkward display of affection (or was it?) Amanda remained still. John sighed, moved a hand up to her forehead once more, and brushed the hair out of her face. It felt soft, but very cold.

"You need your rest. Sleep well," he told her. Before she could reply, he had left the room.

Troubled, Amanda fell into an uneasy sleep. John remained a few inches from the open door, watching intently.


	6. Chapter 7

John remained in the doorway of what used to be his room for several minutes before leaving Amanda in peace. He had been relieved, to say the least, when the young female had finally awakened. Recalling how he had found her, John grimaced. Amanda had been convulsing and vomiting blood. When he had lifted her up, she vomited on his clothes. Still, the filthy smell had been nothing compared to the uncertainty. Amanda had unconscious for nearly a week, wakening for only moments at a time within that period, and seeming like she was still in a nightmare. John had fed her during this time, and given her fluids through her vein, because although he was not a doctor, it seemed like the safest course of action. He hadn't wanted Amanda to dehydrate but he had also worried that she would choke, from drinking.

John, yet again, recalled the events of the day he rescued Amanda. He had waited until her sister left the apartment before sneaking in. Zepp had managed to secure him a room nearby, close enough to Amanda so that he could see her room through his window. He had watched her the night of the test, trailing behind her as she walked back to the building, her arms and clothes bloodied. The blood had disturbed Amanda more than Jigsaw. He was used to seeing other people's blood. He was even used to seeing his own. He vomited blood on nearly a daily basis, after all.

Amanda, however, was accustomed only to self mutilation and, therefore, only used to seeing her own blood. Plunging the knife into someone had been exceptionally difficult for her, harder than most of his other test subjects. When Jigsaw planned the test, this was not his intent. He had wanted to choose something difficult, but with a better chance of success. No other test subject had survived, so while Jigsaw refused to believe that they had no chance, he wanted to increase Amanda's chances of survival. What Jigsaw did not realize how hard it would be for Amanda to cut open another human being when he planned the trap.

He hadn't expected it to wear on Amanda to the extent that it had. She had been hysterical after unlocking the bear trap, suddenly screaming now that she could speak freely. It had taken her awhile simply to rise from the floor.

John had planned to send Billy along as a warning.

If she fled the room after seeing the doll, John would let her go. Temporarily. If she still could not pull herself together, he would approach her and speak with her. She had been more shaky than John had expected, and at one point he worried that she would not pass the test, and he hoped that if he did have the opportunity to speak with her, he would be able to calm her down.

But Amanda had raced out of the room as soon as Billy finished speaking.

He had known since before her survival that he wanted Amanda to continue his work. John had made Amanda's trap fairly easy for this reason. He always wanted his victims to survive, but in the case of Amanda, he _needed_ her to survive. Had the timer went off, she would have had a few more seconds before the bear trap opened. The key was in a place fairly easy to locate. He purposely gave her fair lighting…or at least, better than his other victims had received. The test was probably the easiest he had given since he started his work, but John realized that he was not an impartial judge.

Many of the other test subjects were people that Jigsaw would have been happy to slaughter outright. Paul, for instance, was a pathetic excuse for a human being. He was a hazard to the employment industry, for one thing. But he was also very self absorbed. It made John angry that people like him existed and made life difficult for others. Jigsaw had made his trap nearly impossible for this reason, and when the human's ugly face caught on fire from holding the candle a little too close…well, he saw it as an improvement.

Perhaps it would be most honest to say that John felt sorry for Amanda. He was angry at her for wasting her life, but he also recognized that she must have other problems that would make her resort to drugs. Zepp had not told him much about her –just that she cut herself and smoked heroin—but Jigsaw recognized that it would be better to scare her into seeing that life was important. Then he would change that life and put it towards his worthy cause.

John was relieved that he found Amanda when he did. She was in a pitiable state when he found her, and she did not protest when he lifted her up. Zepp had some medical books around, and together they tried to calm her body and slow her heart rate. John had given Amanda his room, including his bed, at this time. Zepp had a dingy couch from his previous home, but John had been forced to sleep either on the floor or on an uncomfortable chair in what was now Amanda's room. John didn't mind; he was used to discomfort. He threw up at least four times each day, thanks to the cancer in his body that refused to respond to treatment.

But it had taken her awhile to truly wake up (the ravings and vomit attacks she had in the last week did not count), and John was starting to worry when he saw the young female open her eyes.

She had been terrified, at first. She must have been unaware of the times she had woken up during the withdraw period –as he had been used to thinking of it—and John had tried to calm her down. Amanda would not open her eyes right away, a sign that John associated with both trauma and denial. Perhaps she suspected that she would not wake up to find herself at home. Yet when her eyes did open, she panicked, trying to escape from the bed, death to John's pleas of reassurance. It had taken two hands pressing down on her shoulder to get the foolish child to stop struggling.

John had explained, briefly, what had happened and then asked if she needed anything. She refused to look at him with those dark brown eyes when she requested food. When the food arrived (he had made extra several hours ago in case Amanda should wake up, planning to consume it himself had she remained unconscious), she seemed hesitant, as though it contained traces of the drugs that had nearly killed her.

Of course, hunger took over, and she finished everything. John tried to reassure her that it was all right to sleep, but she stiffened when he put his arms around her.

He supposed that he couldn't blame her. In her mind (however faulty her logic was, it was Amanda's only source of being able to make decisions), he had tried to kill her before, and there was no telling what he might do to Amanda in her weakened state. Her only logical choice was to trust him, and that had only worked so well last time. He might not have lied to her, but John knew that he was not trustworthy.

He hoped he could fix things in the weeks to come. It would be that long before she was ready to start learning from him, should she agree.

Now that the immediate danger was out of the way, John was able to watch Amanda sleep without fear. He would have to heal her completely before he could mold her to follow him.

Yes, Jigsaw would have no choice but to wait until she recovered before he could emerge.


	7. Chapter 8

Later that day, Amanda awoke from her nap to find bright light shining in her face. John had opened the windows, and she felt the warmth all over her face. She sat up in bed and tried to stretch inconspicuously. She remembered the exchange that had gone on earlier between her and John with some unease. He may have fed her and saved her life, but, two weeks ago, he had tried to kill her. Amanda couldn't forget that part.

Besides, she was trapped in his house, or wherever he lived. She couldn't forget that he held all of the power. She, on the other hand, could barely move without assistance. Tears stung her eyes. Why did she have to be so helpless?

John was sitting in the chair beside her bed, reading a book. It was turned so that she couldn't see the title, but it looked thick and large. As soon as she saw John look up from the book, Amanda tried to turn her attention towards something else.

Anything else.

_Has he been there the whole time?_ She wondered, not knowing which answer she wanted to hear.

Her eyes focused on the arm that had previously had an IV in it. The needle and tube connecting her to the machinery was gone, but there was a small dot where she guessed the needle had been. It didn't look infected though—just like her arms usually looked after getting an injection or getting high.

Provided whoever provided the injection used a clean needle.

Amanda hadn't paid attention to the clothes she had worn to the police station when she got dressed, but now noticed that she was wearing a black shirt. She wasn't sure what her pants looked like, but they were probably jeans. Whatever they were, she had been wearing them for a week.

Gross.

Her hair was pulled back in a tight low ponytail that did not exactly hurt her head but made her aware that it was pulled back. She might have made the ponytail, or it could have been John. She wouldn't know. She knew it probably looked awful, since Amanda had to wash her hair every day just for it to look okay, and she knew she hadn't washed it on the day she went to the police.

Actually, Amanda realized that she couldn't remember when she had last showered. Probably after the trap, but she wouldn't place any bets on it. Liz hadn't complained about it, but Liz was used to Amanda's messy habits.

Amanda probably hadn't brushed her teeth in over a week, either. She could still taste the pancakes and the eggs, but she felt a layer of plaque that tasted faintly like cheese around all of her teeth. Particularly the back ones. At least it was a change from the metal trap she had dreamed about prior to her overdose, but, still, it wasn't exactly pleasant.

She peeked out from the lids of her eyes. He was staring at her. It was enough to give her a heart attack. She whimpered before she could stop herself.

"Shh, shh," John murmured, leaving his chair and placing a hand on her forehead. "Don't be afraid—I won't hurt you."

Amanda lay rigid, hardly daring to allow herself to breathe. John sighed and began to stroke her hair. "Well, did you sleep well?" he asked in that soft voice of his.

She barely nodded in response, eyes focused on the ceiling.

"Amanda…" He paused, then left the sentence unfinished as he continued to smooth her hair.

Amanda was almost enjoying the sensation.

But then he stopped. He felt her forehead, and then her cheeks. "Are you cold? Hungry?" he pressed.

Amanda shook her head and the blankets fell a few inches, revealing the top of her shirt. Quickly, she pulled herself under the blankets again. "I'm fine."

He moved his hand away from her face, but his eyes remained on her. Amanda willed herself not to flinch. Couldn't he just leave her alone?

"You smell," John noted suddenly. "Come with me. You need a bath."

Amanda let out the breath she hadn't realized she had been holding in the form of a sigh. So, this was how he was going to kill her. Made sense—less blood this way.

As though he cared about that sort of thing.

She shook her head violently. "No…please…no," she whispered, attaching her hands to the blankets.

John's face was inscrutable. "Yes." He pulled his hand around hers to lift her up, and before Amanda knew what was going on, the other hand joined it. She whimpered but to no avail. Within seconds, Amanda felt herself being picked up and carried until John had reached a tub in the middle of the room. She willed her legs to kick, but they seemed to have gone numb.

She watched as he turned on the water and sat her on the ground next to it, trying to remove her shirt.

"No," she whimpered softly, wrapping her arms around her chest.

John almost smiled. "All right, then. Strip."

"What?!" Amanda practically wailed.

John took her hands. "I won't hurt you, Amanda," he promised, "and I won't look."

Well, at least he wasn't going to take off her clothes. Hands shaking, Amanda pulled away her shirt and pants. Harder to remove was the bra and underwear. John kept his word and didn't face her, but Amanda didn't feel like any less of a victim.

_He's going to rape me,_ she thought to herself. _He's going to rape me and then he's going to kill me. He's going to hold my head down in the water until the blood flows. Then, he's going to laugh._

These musings did not calm her down.

"All finished?" John asked.

"Yes," Amanda whispered.

"I want you to test the water," John finally said, still not looking. "I don't want it to be too hot or too cold for you. If it's acceptable, get in."

Crouching, Amanda dipped a hand in the water. Hot, but not too hot. Give or take a few degrees, it was the temperature she would set the water to when she showered. "It's fine," she whispered before entering the tub. The water was still running. She lay down, carefully, making herself take deep breaths in hopes that this would calm her down.

"Are you all right?" he asked calmly.

"Y-yes," Amanda managed.

John turned, smiled slightly as he saw her relaxing, and then spoke softly. "Now, Amanda, just rest while it fills up," John continued. "I'm going to change the sheets on your bed. I'll be back in a minute."

Amanda nodded meekly. Was this how he intended to break her? Was he going to rape her next, or would John content himself with showing Amanda how much power he had over her in some other way, perhaps by holding her head under the water for several minutes?

Somehow, though, Amanda couldn't make herself feel hysterical for long. So far, he _hadn't_ done anything, and besides, the water felt delicious against her sweaty skin. As the water grew higher, she found herself experimenting so as to be able to breathe while maintaining a comfortable, laying down, position. It seemed to be a losing battle. No sooner had she found one comfortable position than it began to hurt her, whether it was her hands from balancing against the tub, or her head from leaning on top of it. Eventually, Amanda settled for allowing her head to stay a few inches above the water and her back not quite touching the bottom of the tub.

She pulled her hair out of the ponytail, pulling the band around her wrist, and let it hover about the water. She took a deep breath and let her entire head fall in the water for a moment. When she went up for air, she tried to position herself so that her hair stayed in the water but she was able to breathe. This was almost impossible, and Amanda swallowed a several mouthfuls of water while trying to get that experiment to work.

She peaked out of the tub and saw John gathering up the blankets, sheets, and the pillowcases. He left the room, only to return minutes later with new blankets, sheets, and pillowcases. He made the bed, slowly and very carefully, and when he was at last finished he saw her watching and walked towards the tub, holding the covers Amanda must have used to sleep under. Any relaxation Amanda had received in the past twenty minutes left her suddenly.

He was going to smother her. He was _really_ going to smother her.

She shut her eyes tightly and heard him turn the water off. On instinct, Amanda opened her eyes and saw him putting the dirty blankets and sheets on the floor. She felt a little better, and forced herself to take a deep breath.

"I don't want you to trip when you get out," he explained.

"I thought you were going to kill me," she whispered, then wished she hadn't.

"I won't hurt you," John reassured her. "Sit up."

She obeyed.

Next to the chair sat a few red towels, including one that was considerably smaller than the others. John reached for one of the bottles that Amanda now noticed was on the side. He wet his hands and began to pour a generous amount of blue goopy stuff in them. "Close your eyes and hold out your head," he instructed, holding them outstretched across the side of the tub.

"But…" she whispered.

"It's just shampoo," John explained, and Amanda could swear he was holding back a smile. "But I don't want to get any in your eyes, so keep them closed and keep still until I say you can move."

Amanda, yet again, obeyed. She half expected the blue stuff to be some kind of acid which would eat away at her scalp, and it was all she could do not to cry out.

Carefully, he spread the shampoo over her head and began to run his fingers throughout her hair, massaging it carefully. It didn't take long for Amanda to see that it wasn't acid, just soap. Maybe he wasn't going to kill her after all…

Suddenly, Amanda felt herself go limp as John continued to work his fingers through her hair. It felt so nice, but she didn't dare open her eyes or make any sound.

Suddenly, a soft "Mmm," escaped her lips, and John laughed pleasantly, moving his massage to the center of her head.

"I told you I wouldn't hurt you," he chided. He then poured more shampoo onto her hands and began to rub it around her back, transferring the massage to that entire area. His hands were surprisingly strong but it didn't hurt at all. In fact, it felt almost as good as when he had rubbed her head, and she could feel her lips starting to form a smile. He did her arms next. "You have to learn to trust me," John was saying.

Amanda didn't know how long this lasted, but it felt like too soon when one of John's hands let go. Seconds later, he was handing her to take the smaller towel. It was the size of a large wash cloth. "For your face."

Amanda took the towel gratefully. "Thanks."

He used a small spray the was hooked to the tub and Amanda smiled as she felt the warm water fall over her head and onto the rest of her body, carrying the soap with it. Amanda grinned—she was finally beginning to feel clean.

Then he poured a generous amount of conditioner over her hair and began to brush it through, careful as he had been with the shampoo. This was not quite as pleasant—the bristles tickled and scratched her scalp—but she didn't mind it either. He left it on for a few minutes, taking the time to unplug the tub and rinse off the brush, and then handed Amanda the wash cloth so he could rinse the conditioner out. Minutes later, he was finished and handing a towel to her. As she dried off her body, John was towel drying her hair with another, just as large, towel.

Then he was brushing it again, making Amanda felt more like a small dog being groomed by a benevolent master, rather than a heroin addict twenty four year old who had just spent the last week unconscious, being cared for by a well known serial killer.

She didn't flinch when he removed both towels. For a minute, Amanda wondered what she was going to wear, but John answered that by putting on a long shirt that reached past her knees. The sleeves, though meant to be short, fell past her elbows. It felt very soft, like cotton that had been washed until it was worn down. Now John was brushing her hair again.

"What's this?" she asked, holding out a fold of the shirt.

"What _I _wear to sleep," he explained, bemused.

Amanda stayed silent for a few minutes. Then, as though gathering up her nerve, she spoke quickly. "Can I brush my teeth?" Amanda asked, tentatively.

"Of course." He guided her in the opposite direction to a sink with an unopened tube of Crest toothpaste and a blue toothbrush sitting in a cup.

Relieved, Amanda brushed thoroughly for at least three minutes, until she felt all the plaque disappear. She grinned, sheepishly, when she put back the toothbrush whose bristles were now somewhat bent.

"You'll need a new brush soon," John smiled.

He lifted her up, carried her across the room, and Amanda made herself comfortable as she nestled against his shoulders.

She nodded at something he said without knowing what it was, and felt him separate her body from his arms. He tucked numerous blankets around her and she nestled against the pillow. The material from sheets and blankets felt the same as the previous ones, but hot, and she knew they had just been in the dryer. He ran a hand over her face again, smoothing her still wet hair. Amanda, though hardly able to keep her eyes open, smiled contentedly. Even if it was only temporary, she was clean, and she felt safe. Perhaps John wasn't so horrible after all.


	8. Chapter 9

A week later, Amanda could see that she was improving. The withdraw symptoms decreased significantly over the next few days. Her energy level also increased. When she had first woken up, she barely could eat, or take a bath, or hold a conversation with John before exhaustion would take over.

Part of it, she knew, had to do with the fact that she was living with a serial killer who had tried to kill her before. John might be kind to her now, but she had no way of knowing if the serial killer, Jigsaw, would be back.

It had been nine days since she initially woke up. John hadn't let her go to the bathroom or wash her hair by herself until yesterday. He still watched when she took a bath, but he stood outside when Amanda had to pee. This was a relief. Of all things, it had particularly been embarrassing to have John watch her when she relieved herself. More than that...even though she was fairly certain, now, that he wouldn't rape, but Amanda still felt uneasy when he tried to dress and undress her.

Yet, to say he was overprotective of her would be an understatement.

Still, if she was to be completely honest with herself (and it was hard not to be, when there was little she could do aside from thinking), Amanda didn't know how she felt about John helping her deal with drug withdraw. At times she thought he owed her the help he lent because Jigsaw _had_ tried to kill her. At other times, she thought he would be cashing in as soon as he believed she recovered…if not earlier.

If the latter was the case, Amanda thought that she should be relieved John was slow to pronounce her healthy.

Yet hadn't he taken care of her over the last two weeks? Hadn't he fed her, even given her his bed (as he had told her on several occasions)? More importantly, hadn't he saved her life?

Did saving someone's life after trying to kill them cancel out trying to kill them?

Amanda sat in bed, musing over these questions, huddled under the warm covers. Most of the blankets tucked neatly under her legs and back, but a heavy one spread out under her chest and ending well over her shoulders. John must have rearranged them while she slept.

It should have frightened her how aware he was of her needs, how he anticipated them and responded to them just after the thought had reached her mind, but it didn't. Amanda was used to elements in her life that most people would have considered unbearable horrors. This was just another thing that was once alien, and now familiar. At first John's care had been foreign, but now it was comforting and somewhat normal. Amanda had simply adjusted to it. She rarely woke up cold not to have another blanket applied (which was regularly- possibly another side affect but, according to John, more psychological), hungry only to be fed, or comforted after waking up, screaming, from nightmares.

Amand had had a _lot _of those over the past week.

She pulled the covers closer to her as she reached to turn on the lamp next to the table John had recently provided, and retrieved one of the books he had placed there yesterday.

John had allowed her to start reading four days ago, when he first supplied her with books. The unused books changed daily; the used books remained until she was finished. Amanda had never been an avid reader but with nothing else to do, she embraced this new activity.

John certainly had a strange collection. A textbook on Biochemistry, a book on philosophy which had several writers, a book of children's fairy tales (filled with lines crossing out most of the words and scribbles indicating what they should say), and oddly enough, a Bible.

Yes, a Bible. What a serial killer was doing with a Bible was a question Amanda had no answer for. She had leafed through it and John had clearly marked some passages, but it wasn't her first choice of reading material.

She had more fun reading the fairy tales, or what were the revised fairy tales. John had taken stories that everyone had heard at one time or another and, in essence, rewrote them to give them a darker meaning. None of the stories ended happily in the traditional sense of the word, but the endings had a realistic feel to them. It made sense, for instance, that Goldilocks was devoured by the bears. She _had_ broken into their house and eaten their food.

Amanda was so immersed in the revised stories that she didn't hear John enter until she felt his arm on her shoulder.

She jumped. His touch didn't freak her out as much as it had the first day she woke up –she knew that he wasn't going to hurt her, or at least not that way—but it still unnerved her. She was not used to being touched.

John must have recognized this, because he withdrew his hand. "Sorry," he apologized. Then he hugged her briefly. "Good morning."

"Morning." Amanda marked her page (another thing John hadn't minded--in fact, it was probably helpful because it let him know which books were being used and which ones weren't) and closed the book.

John sat on the chair beside her bed. "How's the patient?"

"I'm fine."

He leaned forward to put a hand to her forehead. "You look healthy. How do you feel?"

"I'm fine," Amanda began, then stopped when she realized she must sound like a little kid. "I feel healthy," she clarified.

John raised his eyebrows. His lip edges twitched, a true sign he was trying not to smile. "Judging solely from what I've read in textbooks, and on the internet, and on your case in particular, I'd say you're out of immediate danger."

_No duh,_ thought Amanda.

John clearly recognized her unspoken reaction, because then he did smile.

"Do you want your bath now?"

John made her take two a day--one in the morning before breakfast and one before going to bed. He did this so that if Amanda refused, he could threaten to refuse to feed her. Of course, if she really felt too weak, he wouldn't follow through on it. But since Amanda always woke up ravenous, his method worked unfailingly.

Amanda nodded and pulled off the covers. John lent her an arm in case (Amanda thought wryly) she needed help on the long ten foot walk to the tub.

He turned on the water to fit Amanda's preference--hot but not scalding--as she stripped. She had been wearing John's night shirt and would change into her black shirt and jeans after the bath.

She didn't know what had happened to the rest of her clothing. Probably Liz had thrown it out, or tried to sell it on ebay for some extra cash.

The water felt as comfortable as the blankets had, and Amanda leaned back and tried to relax. Then she let John bathe her, washing and conditioning her hair, and then carefully moving onto her face. By now, she was used to this treatment and remained still throughout the process, savoring it. She knew that he would not hurt her.

He sprayed her off and reached into the closet, and retrieving a large red towel. He unfolded it and walked over to the tub, holding it so that he could wrap it around Amanda.

It was what he had done for the last week, but it couldn't continue. "Can I do it?"

He nodded.

Without comment, John handed Amanda the towel and, after securing the towel so that it covered most of her body, she gingerly stepped out of the tub. As she dried herself off, Amanda noticed John starting to run a brush through her hair. It had been one of the less embarrassing tasks he had taken on since she awoke, and something that she enjoyed. It reminded her of when her mom used to brush her hair, before she turned six and had to struggle with knots on her own.

His strokes were intent, even, and relatively pain free. Once he was finished, he parted Amanda's hair in the middle and handed her clothes.

John left while she changed, returning ten minutes later with breakfast. This time, it was cheerios with milk, and then another glass of milk on the side. Today's flowers were daisies.

He never asked her what she wanted, but his tastes were generic and Amanda was not a picky eater. No doubt the day would come that John would serve her something she despised, but Amanda tried not to think about that.

He sat on the chair beside the bed and watched her eat silently. It had been one of his habits that truly unnerved Amanda, and caused her to chew quickly. Once she was done, John took the tray, put it on the floor, and remained seated. Amanda stared at him questioningly.

"I'd like to talk you to," John said with his piercing eyes, "about the day I found you."

Amanda nodded, resigned, then stared at the covers. He lifted her chin up so that she was forced to look at him, but Amanda focused her eyes on the tub in the center of the room.

John noticed and leaned over, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "I want to understand what happened that caused you to relapse. I thought I had helped you."

Amanda sighed. "You did," she lied. "I just...the police..." she trailed off.

"They made you testify. I suspected as much," John responded, nodding.

Amanda's vision started to blur. "I didn't want to tell them what had happened." She didn't finish her sentence with "because I knew you'd come after me and kill me", but John correctly guessed the meaning.

"I wouldn't have harmed you for that," he sighed. "You were the only survivor. Of course they were adamant."

She shut her eyes. "When I came back, no one was there...I went to my room..."

"I know," John soothed, wanting to hug her, but feeling that he shouldn't. Not now, anyway. She wouldn't like it. He moved the hand that had been on her shoulders to her arm. "What happened next?" he prodded, obviously trying to be gentle but sounding harsh nonetheless. "When I saw you, you were in shock. Vomiting blood, shaking. You wouldn't stay still when I tried to lift you up."

Amanda could imagine. She didn't want to give anything away unnecessarily, though. Best not to give any unwarranted information to a serial killer.

No matter how nice he might appear when he wasn't trying to kill her.

This had been part of what Amanda had spent the past eight days--and the week before that--fearing.

"What do you know about me?" she asked instead. "I wake up three weeks ago and you're trying to kill me. I wake up a week ago and you said you saved my life. What gives you the right?" Her hands became fists.

John sighed, reached out, and put a wrinkled hand on her arm. As usual, it felt soft but horribly cold. She flinched noticeably, but John did not let go. "You're avoiding the question."

_So are you._ "I don't want to waste your time telling you stuff you already know," Amanda responded, moving her arm away determinedly.

John laughed harshly. "Fine. You have a drug problem. Six months ago, you overdosed on heroin and wound up in the hospital. You almost died, but that didn't scare you enough. You went back to the drugs as soon as you got out. You wait on people and you're a stripper for the drug money."

Amanda turned bright red and then fumed. "You only have the facts," she snarled. "You have no…no fucking idea how any of this happened, or why I am the way I am."

John blinked his pale eyes, momentarily regretting his outburst.

"Enlighten me," he encouraged.

But Amanda turned away, obviously fed up and not hearing the sympathy in John's voice. "Go to hell. I'm tired," she stated, facing the wall. She pulled the blankets over her head and pressed them against her face so that all she could see was darkness. When she did not hear him move, she made a growling sound. "Leave me alone!"

She heard him breathe heavily and then rise from the chair. He hovered there for what felt like an eternity but was probably less than half a minute, sighed, and left.

Amanda shivered under the covers and tried, without much luck, to sleep.

-----------------

John usually relied on Zepp to keep him from resorting to violence. He had been there when John first received the news about the cancer. Inoperable. Impossible to prevent. Walking time bomb. John had tried to kill himself that day, only to return to the hospital later where they stitched him up. They couldn't cure the cancer, but they assured John that there would only be a small scar where his chest had split open.

Zepp had taken an interest in him. He was one of those few people who seemed to realize that people aside from himself existed in the world. He had been on the night shift, when everyone else had gone to bed. John had lain awake in agony because the pain medication had worn off. Zepp wasn't authorized to give him any more medicine, but he spoke to John and listened to what he had to say.

Zepp shared John's view that many people disregarded their life, and had come up with a list of Jigsaw's first test subjects.

Amanda was one of them.

John had believed, perhaps naively, that if someone survived one of his life or death situations, they would fall to their knees in thanks. Jigsaw would be a type of deity to this person, and they would pledge to make better use of their life.

So far, this hadn't worked. Amanda had been the only survivor, and it did not escape Jigsaw that her test was one of the few where self mutilation was not required. His theory was not holding up. Only a week later, Amanda had reverted back to drugs.

Jigsaw had never tested Zepp's ability to survive as he had tested so many others. It seemed vaguely disloyal to test your right hand man.

Zepp would probably take over after John died. It did not matter, Jigsaw tried to tell himself, if Zepp had not truly faced life or death situations. He knew enough to continue Jigsaw's work.

Amanda's survival, however, brought new possibilities to Jigsaw's mind. Perhaps he could convince Amanda to help Zepp. Surely having two assistants would be better than one. Should others survive, Amanda and Zepp could seek them out, and train them. It was entirely possible that by the time John died, there would be multiple Jigsaws, ready and willing to take over.

It had been a relief when the police forced Amanda to go to the police station and bear witness against Jigsaw. They always found his traps, but sometimes as late as weeks after the people had died. Jigsaw could wait weeks to confront Amanda, but he wanted it done sooner rather than later. Her disappearance, along with her sister's, gave him ample opportunity to set his plan in motion.

It was true that John did not know many details about Amanda's life. Just what Zepp had told him, and that had only been enough to determine that the young female did not truly appreciate life. Whatever circumstances causing this choice were, Jigsaw believed, irrelevant. Certain things were black and white and the details did not matter. He thought that Amanda's attitude towards life was one of them.

Now he sat on Zepp's dingy couch, pondering the events that had just taken place. Perhaps he had overlooked some details involving his test subject.

He decided he would give her another hour to cool off, and then speak to her again. He would try to be more gentle with her the second time around.

Amanda had just fallen into a fitful sleep when John entered the room. A heavy sleeper, she did not hear him enter and did not wake up when he stood over the bed, shaking her gently.

"Amanda, wake up," John insisted, moving the blankets away from her face. It looked as though she had been crying.

She struggled, mumbling something that sounded like "Let me go" and trying to retrieve the covers.

"Amanda," John tried again. He moved towards the bed, and then sat down near her pillow, keeping most of his body off the mattress. He began to stroke her hair.

Her eyes opened slowly. She looked, and sounded, groggy. "What do you want?" she asked, clearly defeated, closing her eyes yet again.

"Just to talk," John answered, now shifting so that he was sitting against the wall, inches from her head. He moved her upper body so that she was seated across his legs. With one hand, he supported her back, and with the other, he continued smoothing her hair.

It felt nice. She could remember when Mike had done the same thing. Amanda choked back a sob. She missed him. She moved her knees to her chest, hiding.

"Tell me about yourself," John requested. "Please."

Amanda stayed silent, trying to pull herself together, trying to relax in John's arms. He wouldn't hurt her right away, would he? He clearly expected the worst. Even if he did, Amanda realized, it wouldn't matter what she said. Better to talk to him.

Amanda swallowed several times before speaking. "I first got into drugs without realizing it. My boyfriend, who I lived with, sold them. The police thought that he was dealing but they couldn't prove anything. One of them planted evidence on me so that I would be convicted. I guess he thought I'd rat out Mike that way. But I didn't even know that he was selling drugs." She sighed. "The cop who set me up was Detective Matthews. God, I hate that man."

"He's a pitiful excuse for a human," John agreed. "He's harmed many people like yourself. Killed just as many." He was fingering one of her wrists, pausing at the scars, but not asking anything about it.

"I started that in jail," Amanda explained. "Drugs, too. I just wanted to escape." She paused. "When I was in jail, I had to have sex with guys to get the money for drugs. So when I got out, I became a stripper. I needed the drugs. Mostly heroin, though.

"There were two dealers that sold heroin not far from where I lived. The cheap guy, which is self explanatory. His prices weren't high but the drugs were usually laced with some other stuff. Like dog crap or something. The other guy charged four times as much, but he was pretty reliable with just providing the drug you asked for. It was safer to go to him, even though the price took up pretty much everything I made.

"I went to the cheap guy once when I heard that some people got their heroin for less. That's when I overdosed and was sent to the hospital," she added. "It almost killed me."

Realization dawned on John. "When I found you, had you taken the cheap stuff?"

Amanda nodded, eyes on her legs. "Unintentionally. I had some of the cheap stuff left over. But I also had reserves from the other guy. They must have gotten mixed together."

She could feel John's body shake as he let out a long sigh. "And then you went into shock."

"Yeah." It suddenly occurred to Amanda that had Jigsaw not broken into Liz's apartment, she might have died before Liz found her.

Again.

It occurred to John that had he not placed Amanda in the bear trap test, she probably wouldn't have gone to the reserves. She would have continued her job and gotten the drugs from the more reliable dealer.

Which meant he was as much to blame as Amanda for her relapse. He had intended to hold it over her head, and perhaps he still could, but he was the cause of it.

He tightened his grip on her considerably. John had not wanted Amanda to die.

"I won't hurt you again," John promised.

Amanda was silent for awhile, trying to phrase her question in a way that wouldn't anger John. Shivering somewhat, though not from the cold, she tried to pull a blanket over her. She had wore the same clothes for the past week—jeans and very light t-shirt—which was fine in Liz's usually overheated apartment, but gave her little emotional warmth here. Even with John holding her in a half hug, her teeth started to chatter.

"Cold?" John asked, gently repositioning himself so that he was no longer seated on the blankets, and pulling them over Amanda's body. "How's that?"

Amanda nodded as the warmth seeped through her. She turned her head towards his, started to speak, stopped, and then started again. "Um?"

"Yes?" John hid a laugh.

It was not the question Amanda wanted to ask, but she realized it was preliminary. "What do I call you? The police said you're Jigsaw, but you said you were John Kramer."

"They coined the phrase because out of the people who die from my traps, I carve a piece of flesh from their skin in the shape of a puzzle."

Amanda flinched. "W-why?"

"It's purely symbolic. It means the person is missing a vital part of the human puzzle. The survival instinct. Had they truly wanted to survive my tests, they would still be alive," John explained. "Like you."

Amanda had no response ready for that. "Oh." Then, "How long before I am well enough to go home?"

Even to herself, the question sounded dumb. John might not know it, but Liz had kicked her out. She didn't exactly have a home to go to. Nor did she have any money. If she left John's place, she'd be sleeping beside the streets. Her odds were better remaining with him, even if he planned to kill/test her again.

What Amanda had wanted to ask was how long Jigsaw was going to keep her hostage. When would he decide he was finished testing/fooling with her and let her go?

John knew the real question, of course. His answer reflected it.

"You may leave whenever you like, but I had hoped that you would remain here. At least for a little longer," he corrected. "I don't know what it's like living with your sister, but it can be lonely here."

"I don't want to be…_made_ to stay here," Amanda explained. She didn't add that returning to her sister's was not a valid option at this point. He might make her stay, and then kill her.

"I won't make you remain against your will," John promised, resuming the stroking of her hair. "I hope that you will choose to stay, though."

Amanda nodded noncommittally.

"If you do wish to remain for an extended period of time," John added, "we'll need to purchase some items for you. The bed you've been using, for example, was mine and although I did not mind giving it up for this period of time, I would like to be able to sleep there again."

She stared at the blankets. "Sorry," she mumbled.

John lifted her face with both hands so that she was forced into looking at him. "Don't be. You needed it." He paused, let go of her face and, receiving no response, continued his list of items. "So you'll need a bed, a mattress, several pillows, and blankets. I took some of your clothes with me, but I do not know how thorough I was. So you'll need more of those." He paused, thinking. "Also the obvious. Hairbrush, shampoo, toothbrush, and so forth. We should be able to find most of this at Target, though."

Amanda lay her face against his soft, denim shirt. "And the bed?"

"There's a website that delivers," John laughed. "We'll share a room."

"The bed...everything...will be expensive," Amanda sighed. "I don't have any money."

"Don't worry about that. I have plenty," John reassured. "So, are you staying?"

"Okay," Amanda replied, closing her eyes wearily.

She knew could do worse.

A/N: Please please please review! (makes a puppy face) As soon as I get five reviews, I promise to post the next chapter. I might post before, but five's a guarantee.


	9. Chapter 10

John's lips moved into a thin smile. "Good."

"When do you want to…take care of things?" Amanda questioned.

John paused, considering. "Let's buy your clothes and stuff today. The bed…well the website offers overnight delivery to certain areas. I'll place an order."

"You've already planned this?" Amanda realized, watching his face. She inhaled deeply, trying to fight back panic.

"I had considered the possibility even before I first found you," John responded, guarded.

Amanda's eyes narrowed. "Why?"

She didn't trust him. John had to think fast.

"Just from what I had heard, and thought that you might survive," he explained. "I never intended to force you to stay, but wanted to see if it was a viable option."

At this point, almost absentmindedly, John had moved his hands away from her stomach and began to rub her back. It was something Jill had loved.

Not Amanda. Immediately, Amanda let out a low growl and started to pull away. Seeing her reaction, John withdrew his hands.

"Stop that!" she whimpered.

"I'm sorry..." John looked at her, not comprehending.

She sighed, eyes pleading, body hunched over. "Look. I don't mind being touched, but not where I can't see. Please?"

John nodded, somewhat registering the situation. She had probably been hurt from behind before. Or perhaps she just wanted him to stay in clear view. But he had done the same thing for the past week when he had bathed her, and she hadn't reacted that way.

John didn't know how to phrase it, though. "But when...?"

Amanda sighed, immediately comprehending, and feeling her face turn red. "You didn't give me a choice then," she replied in a matter of fact tone. She paused. "I don't know. That's different."

"All right."

John tentatively wrapped his arms around her body. She snuggled against him, resting her head on his shoulder, reminding John of a kitten. "That's okay," she confirmed, closing her eyes.

"Good." He was still confused, but decided to let it go. He coughed lightly. "We'll go shopping for things for you today. You need a lot--clothes, sheets, blankets. Target has all of that."

Amanda raised her head to face him. "Yeah. But expensive."

"That doesn't matter," John replied. "Don't worry about it." Amanda started to speak, but John interrupted her by speaking over her protests. "You won't have to repay me."

Amanda did not believe this, but thought it made more sense to remain silent. After a few minutes of resting in John's arms, he spoke again, releasing his hold. "Come on. Let's get started."

Amanda, reluctantly it seemed, released her hold and followed him out of the bed. Already dressed, she only needed shoes and a jacket before she was ready to leave.

John, however, insisted that eat lunch first, and for the first time, Amanda saw other parts of his house.

The kitchen area wouldn't seem terribly impressive to most people, but Amanda hadn't been around middle class families and looked pleased by what she saw. Though not painted or furnished, the room held a large refrigerator, an oven, and a stove with a sink attached. Under the stove was a small set of drawers, and above it was a cabinet. In front of these items sat a large table with two chairs, make entirely out of wood. Amanda wondered if John had made them. She stood awkwardly in the doorway, not sure what she was supposed to do, and stared at the floor boards until John spoke.

"Would you like a sandwich with some fruit?" John offered.

Amanda raised her gaze from the floor to the figure gathering plates. "What kind?"

John laughed. "Sandwich or fruit?"

"Well, sandwich, but I guess both."

John opened the cabinet. "There's some peanut butter. I have some cheese in the refrigerator. I'm afraid that's all that's available."

So that had been another reason for the sudden shopping trip. Amanda hid a grin.

"Peanut butter's fine."

"As for fruit…there's an apple but I think it might be old, and some oranges in the refrigerator."

"Okay. I guess the orange." Amanda wasn't partial to that fruit, not even enjoying orange juice very much (she preferred milk), but she didn't want to take a chance on a rotten apple.

As John walked to the refrigerator, he saw that she was still standing. "You can sit down," he told her, eyebrows raised in amusement. "Either chair's fine."

Amanda nodded, turning red, walked over to the table and took a seat. The chair felt extremely uncomfortable against her butt, and seemed to hurt her back.

Moments later, John placed identical meals on the table in front of both chairs. "We can pick up dinner on the way back," he suggested, taking his seat.

Amanda nodded and started to eat. The bread tasted hard and it was a struggle to keep everything down. John must have felt the same way because he only ate half of his sandwich.

"That was awful," John determined after finishing his last bite, and getting up. "I promise that dinner won't be as bad."

Amanda laughed. "I've had worse," she replied. She didn't add the "in jail" part, but John seemed to know what she meant.

He took his dishes up to the sink and washed them briefly. "There's a closet in the next room with some jackets. Your shoes are on the bottom."

"Okay." She walked to the next room, found another door that looked like it was the closet John had been referring to, and opened it. Some coats fell out.

She rolled her eyes, picked them up, and put them back on the hangers. She looked for her shoes for a few minutes before finding them, tucked in the back. Dust bunnies had already started to form. Gross.

She picked them up, shook out the dust, and kicked the dust back into the closet. Then she inspected the hangers for a jacket. Amanda had no idea what the weather was like outside. It had been March when Jigsaw had put Amanda in the trap. Was it April now? She couldn't remember.

Amanda grabbed a medium heavy jacket, brown, fairly short, and made for a corduroy material. She tried it on—it was a little loose but it fit. She was skinnier than John.

Of course, she had probably lost weight over the past couple of weeks. Amanda hadn't eaten much at Liz's since the trap, and even though John had fed her for the past week, she had spent the week before unconscious.

She closed the door and walked back into the kitchen, putting on her shoes by feel as she walked.

"Should we make a list?" she asked, seeing that John had finished the dishes.

John shook his head. "Anything we forget, we can go back for. Target's not far from here. Are you ready?"

Amanda nodded, zippering up the coat.

John grabbed his coat from his chair, reached into his pants pockets –probably for his car keys, Amanda thought—and pulled out a large chain of keys. He frowned, removed a few, and put the others on the table.

"Let's go."

Amanda wanted to follow John, having no idea where they were going, but John put an arm around her and forced her to walk beside him. It reminded her of when she was a little kid and went to the mall with her mom.

Outside the building sat a slightly banged up black car. John stopped in front of it, unlocked the doors, and opened the one on Amanda's side. At first, she was afraid that this was some kind of elaborate trap, but she shook away the paranoia.

_John's just trying to be nice,_ she told herself, firmly.

The ride to the store was silent. John didn't speak, so Amanda didn't attempt to make conversation. Clearly, John was one of those people who could only do so many things at once. That, or he hated to talk while driving.

Amanda stared out the window and let her mind wander during the ten minute drive. She wondered how Liz was doing. Her sister had told her she was no longer welcome, but Amanda thought that Liz would be disconcerted by her sudden disappearance. Had Liz seen John when he took her away?

She wondered, yet again, about Mike. He could be anywhere by now. She had his last name, but it was a common one. It was possible that he was in jail now, having been picked up for dealing drugs. Or maybe he stopped when Amanda was caught. She had been sentenced without bail so, or as Amanda had told herself, he couldn't have done anything to help her.

John pulled into the parking lot, turned off the car, and unlocked the doors. Amanda hadn't even noticed the doors were locked until that moment, and was relieved that she had been oblivious. It would not have helped her fears.

Silently, Amanda unbuckled her seatbelt and opened the door. John had been faster and was waiting for her on the other side. He held out an arm, even though the car was not high off the ground, and should Amanda fall she would not have hurt herself too badly. These gestures that would seem romantic in a boyfriend just freaked her out.

"I'm fine," she said, not taking the hand.

Once they started walking, John put an arm around Amanda's shoulders again. This time, it didn't feel as weird because it was pretty cold outside, and his arm felt warm. She must have put her head back slightly, because John was soon smoothing her hair in a fatherly kind of way.

It was nice, and Amanda briefly allowed herself to enjoy it.

Once they were in the store, however, John's mind turned to other matters. He selected a large cart and started shopping.

They did the food the first because it was nearby. John picked out various types of meats from the frozen foods section, and then went on to breads, and cereal. Amanda followed him aimlessly as he shopped; he did not expect her input nor did it appear that he wanted it. Fortunately, Amanda was not a picky eater and the foods he chose were fairly basic. Mostly, it was healthy stuff, but every now and then he'd add something like graham crackers, and even went to the ice cream section.

"Any favorites?" he asked, nodding to her.

Amanda thought for a minute. "Strawberry's pretty good."

He picked out two containers of Breyer's Strawberry Ice Cream, and then chose mint chocolate chip for himself. He paused for a few seconds, and then selected two boxes of low fat ice cream sandwiches.

"I have a weakness for chocolate," John explained, smiling. "Not very healthy, of course, but I always eat some. Every day. Dark chocolate is supposed to be healthier, but it's not my taste."

Amanda smiled. "Mine's gummy bears. But only the pineapple ones."

"The others are fairly disgusting," John agreed.

As they passed the candy section, Amanda saw him throw in some mini Hershey bars and a few packs of gummy bears. She smiled to herself.

Clothes were next on the list. Amanda had maybe two outfits, so John wanted to get her all new clothes. They didn't share the same tastes; Amanda liked bold patterns, close fitting tank tops with spaghetti strap sleeves, and tight jeans. John's style was much more conventional. He, Amanda felt, would have liked to see her in long skirts and shirts that reached to just below the neck.

They ended up compromising, getting some of the skirts John wanted, a few pairs of jeans Amanda wanted, and plenty of shirts that were neither too revealing nor could they still fit if Amanda gained fifty pounds. John then picked out a few more "respectable" skirts for Amanda, and Amanda retaliated chose a few shirts that were more figure flattering. Sweatpants, however, they both agreed on. That, and sweatshirts, socks, and jackets.

Most embarrassing was shopping for bras and underwear with John. There was no getting around the fact that bras were expensive. The most basic ones cost at least twenty-five dollars, but for Amanda they were a necessity for life. (Underwear was more reasonable, and Amanda just turned red when she picked up the type that she needed. Neither wanted to discuss them to any extent.) John, however, was not a female and did not understand why someone would spend so much money when a shirt cost half that, and covered the whole stomach area.

"They're priced by men," Amanda explained. "Men know that women wear them and that there's a market."

"But do you really need something _that_ expensive to support your…?" He trailed off, not saying the word.

"Breasts. They're called breasts. And yeah, I do need them. Virtually every female does, regardless of size. It's like having two tennis balls glued to your chest," she tried to explain.

John sighed, realizing he had to give in because as he was not a woman, he could not win this argument. "How many do you need?"

Amanda rolled her eyes. "Seven? If I do laundry once a week, then that should be enough." She paused. "Maybe eight in case one breaks or shrinks."

"That's two hundred dollars in something you can't even see!" he protested, half heartedly.

"John," Amanda retorted, removing eight white bras of her size from the rack, "you'll _know_ if I'm not wearing one. Believe me, you don't want to see."

Nightwear was the easiest. Amanda had always worn nightgowns, and unlike bras, their prices were not prohibitive. John let her select several of the same style (low cut but respectable, ankle length or just above) without complaint.

After finishing that, something else occurred to Amanda. "I need stuff for when I get my period," she whispered.

John rolled his eyes. "Fine."

On the way to the bedding section, Amanda grabbed a couple of boxes of tampons.

She realized how much she had taken Mike for granted. Of course, John had probably never lived with a woman before.

Amanda had never really shopped for sheets or blankets before. Perhaps she would have given them more thought had she gone to college or lived on her own, but to her they were just something that were there. Colors, texture, and patterns were fairly meaningless to her. Even cleanliness didn't particularly affect her.

John, however, told her to look carefully because there were a lot of selections, and recommended some that were fairly inexpensive.

Including beech sheets. Amanda had never even heard of the name before, but when she felt them, it felt like silk against her skin. Surprisingly, they were the same price as regular cotton sheets. John had probably used them on his bed (perhaps before Amanda came?) but Amanda thought they must be new. Then again, her coworkers hadn't exactly been the type of people to talk about what kinds of sheets they used.

Amanda chose navy colored ones, and John had her choose another color as a backup set. He then selected some pillowcases in the same material, and then some pillows.

The blanket, also fairly inexpensive, made Amanda think she would never want to leave her bed. When she told John this, he laughed and picked out a second one.

"Why two?" Amanda questioned.

"In case you want to use it when you're relaxing…watching a movie or something," he explained. "Make sure yours is larger than a twin, though. Blankets should be."

Amanda nodded, checked, and added hers to the cart. It was starting to overflow, and Amanda wondered how much John would spend when they were finished.

John selected a few more, less comfortable, blankets and a comforter for extra warmth. Since his house was always cold, Amanda didn't blame him.

Towels were next on the list and, again, something Amanda didn't care about. She let John pick out some blue towels for her without commenting. She knew that John's were red, so there would be no mistaking hers for his.

Once they were done with this, John paused. "Anything else?"

"Toothbrush? Toothpaste? Shampoo?" she asked. "Oh, and laundry detergent? You said we were out of it."

"Right," John agreed, and they headed in that direction.

Then John wanted to buy some movies. Amanda had, once again, no preferences, so he got a mixed selection. Some of the titles included The Matrix, Saving Private Ryan, Citizen Kane, Bruce Almighty (John's all time favorite), and Stepmom (as per Amanda's request--she had seen part of it at a friend's birthday party once). She had expected him to have a preference for horror movies, but John either owned the ones displayed in the case or disliked them, because he stayed away from that genre entirely. Not that he was a die hard Disney fan.

By the time everything was purchased, Amanda felt ready to collapse. Shopping (and negotiating) had taken nearly four hours, and most of her energy. Finding out the total cost (over a thousand dollars, food included) hadn't helped her nerves, either. Regardless of what John had said before, Amanda thought that this was just another thing he would throw back at her at a future point, something more that she would owe him.

Not that she could do much about it at this point.

On the way home, John called Dominos to order a pizza. Amanda volunteered to leave the car to pick it up. They ate some of it right away and Amanda could some of her energy come back.

Just unloading everything would have been hard enough, but John wanted to wash all of the clothes and blankets before Amanda used them. He, it turned out, was fairly picky about germs. Given the tests he put people through, it was almost laughable. Amanda did not remember the room with the bear trap being particularly sanitary.

The bed pieces had arrived, but weren't put together. Fortunately, John didn't find it hard. It was basically what Amanda knew as "dorm room furniture"; Mike's apartment had the same stuff. The bed could be high or low from the ground…Amanda chose a higher setting but low enough to be able to get in and out of without must problem. John had another mattress and let her use that. It was extremely comfortable, much like his which she had been using.

As they waited for everything to finish in the washer and drier (John had two of each), Amanda and John sat on the rather old couch and watched a movie. Amanda was too tired to remember much about it and before she knew it, she had fallen asleep. She woke up later to find herself in John's arms the next morning.

A/N: Please review! Once again, I cannot guarantee the next chapter will be up until I have received five reviews. Please? (makes a puppy face)


	10. Chapter 11

Amanda opened her eyes the next morning very much aware of two things. First, she was not in her bed, but rather on a couch, with unfamiliar hands wrapped around her shoulders. Second, that she desperately had to go to the bathroom.

The first did not entirely surprise Amanda. She knew those arms belonged to John, who was still sleeping (and snoring).

The second presented a larger problem.

Amanda knew that John had been unrelentingly strict about getting up without permission. He had, after all, only recently let her walk and bathe by herself. Going to the bathroom fit into that category, of course, but that had been when he was awake. Amanda still couldn't do so much as turn the water on, or open a door, in his absence. It frustrated her, even though she recognized that John acted mostly out of concern.

Still, she had to go, and it struck her as a little ridiculous to awaken the elderly man just to let him know she had to pee. Liz would have thought she was crazy, and Mike…well, knowing him, he'd probably offer to change places with Amanda when she returned so that the bed would stay warm.

She smiled in spite of herself. He had been a good boyfriend.

As a child, this had happened fairly often, though not exactly regularly. Her rule of thumb had been if it took her longer to try to fall back asleep than it would to just _go_, she'd go.

And that had been with the fear of her father lurking in the hallway, ready to lock her in the bathroom as soon as she entered.

Amanda sighed. Whatever John's reaction would be, should he find out, it had to be better than this. She remembered that the bathroom was in the next room and, with that, pried his hands off her neck and raced into the room.

After going, she flushed, then swore quietly when she realized her mistake. It might have woken John up. Having relieved herself, Amanda began to regret her decision. John had no shortage of punishments ready, and it was very likely that he'd be annoyed with her, to say the least.

She tiptoed back into the room with the TV and the couch, and tried to creep onto the couch unnoticed. Amanda thought that she had made it until, just as she was pulling the blanket over her body, she heard John speak.

Her heart started pounding so loudly she couldn't hear what he was saying. It was harder to distinguish the tone, too. He could be furious but he could also just be tired. It was impossible to know for sure.

"W-what?" Amanda squeaked, pulling the blanket past her shoulders.

"I said, 'Did you find the bathroom all right?'"

Now John sounded amused.

"Y-yeah," Amanda mumbled, feeling her cheeks grow red.

"Good. It can be hard when you have to go and you don't know where it is," John added, turning to look at her.

It was too dark to see any details but Amanda thought he was smiling.

"I guess," she whispered, humiliated. Was this her punishment—talking about the mechanics of finding the right room?

It was better than the bear trap, but at least the bear trap had the temporary aspect of a quick death should she fail to secure the key. This conversation, Amanda knew, could go on for hours.

She pulled the covers over her head, wanting to die.

"Well, I'm glad you found it," John was saying, and then yawned.

"Yeah."

She could hear John laughing. "I'll stop," he promised, moving to her side of the couch to pull the blanket away from her face. "You need air, Amanda."

Amanda felt like pouting, but thought it was more dignified to say nothing. She ducked out of John's reach as he moved his arm toward her chest—probably wanting to put it around her shoulders again—and heard him sigh.

"I won't hurt you."

Silence.

John let out a yawn and closed her eyes, moving back to his original side of the couch.

_He'll be snoring again soon,_ Amanda realized.

She knew it was still early but she wasn't tired. In fact, Amanda felt more awake than she had felt since she'd been here.

There was no way she'd be able to fall asleep, but she doubted that she'd be able to just lie there for another few hours. She should do something productive, like sorting out the new clothes John had bought her and spent half the evening washing.

"John," she whispered, her voice barely audible to her own ears. Louder, she hissed, "John?"

Tired eyes opened. "What is it?" he grumbled, not sounding particularly harsh but hardly friendly.

Amanda felt herself turn red. "I'm not tired anymore. Can I…do something? Like put away the clothes?"

"That's fine," he muttered, shifting towards the cushions.

Gingerly, as if John would change his mind at any minute, Amanda crept out from under the blanket and made her way into the kitchen, closing the door and turning on the light as she left.

The clothes were mixed up and in several plastic laundry baskets. Amanda checked the drier and noticed that towels were still inside, but they were dry. She picked up the baskets one at a time and hauled them over to the kitchen table.

Amanda had not had much experience with laundry before. Liz always threw in Amanda's clothes with her own, and Mark sent most of their stuff out for dry cleaning or washed by hand. He thought it was cheaper, and more efficient, than buying a washer and a dryer. Amanda had subscribed to the belief, and often teased him with it, that men were incapable of doing laundry.

John, evidently, did not fall into that category.

Still, the worst had been done and folding was something she had experience with. Sorting, too. The clothes, she noted, had a nice scent to them, and felt softer than they had in the store. Upon further inspection, she saw that John owned fabric softener and dryer sheets, so he probably used them on her new stuff.

Amanda felt a little embarrassed when she realized this. John didn't need to make the effort; it's not like she would have known the difference.

She saved the blankets and sheets for last, separating them into the last empty laundry basket. She felt proud as she surveyed her work on the kitchen table. It was something that John wouldn't have to do later.

Suddenly, though, Amanda felt a wave of tiredness. She was already sitting down, and decided to close her eyes for a few minutes. Waking John _again_ didn't seem to be the best idea.

The next thing she knew, someone was shaking her awake. Her neck and back hurt from the awkward position. She looked up and saw that it was light outside. She must have slept for hours. She moved away from the unwanted hands and saw John looking at her with a forced smile on his face.

"Good morning, sleepy head." Amanda groaned in response. "Are you cold? Would you like something to eat?" he continued, reaching for her right hand.

She wasn't cold. Just groggy and feeling incredibly dirty. Amanda realized that she had slept in her clothes. She needed a shower.

"I'm hungry, but can I get cleaned up first?"

She remembered that she hadn't showered last night. It was something she had gotten used to since her arrival.

John nodded. "I'll show you the way." He removed one of the larger towels from the table.

As Amanda bathed, John took the opportunity to make her new bed. He pulled the mattress on top of the base, with some effort, and then went downstairs to collect the bedding. Amanda hoped he would remember to bring her some clothes, but he didn't need reminding. Before she was out of the tub, the bed was made and the clothes had all been placed neatly in a set of drawers.

John politely waited for Amanda to finish dressing before asking about food. "Anything in particular?" he questioned as he brushed out her wet and very tangled hair.

"Pancakes? Mmph!" Amanda tried not to yelp as he worked on a particularly stubborn knot, but could not avoid wincing.

"Good choice," he replied, now moving onto a slightly smaller knot. Even though he tried to be gentle, Amanda had unshed tears in her eyes by the time he was finished with her hair. Either ignoring this or choosing not to mention it, (or acting on some sadistic impulse to cause her as much pain as possible) John tried to guide Amanda to the new bed without actually touching her.

She gave him an odd look. "I'm awake."

"I thought you'd rather eat here?"

Amanda shrugged, crawled into the new bed and allowed John to wrap the covers around her.

The sheets, too, had a clean smell about them. They were softer than Amanda remembered, and she thought that she would have a lot of trouble getting up. She lay on her side and watched John intently.

'I'll be back with the pancakes soon," was all he said.

This time, though, Amanda felt determined not to fall asleep.

He came back about ten minutes later with the tray on which sat a plate of pancakes and a glass of milk. The flower selection was pretty, but Amanda didn't know the name for it. She watched, amused, as John set up the tray on top of her legs, and then took a seat on the bed beside her.

The food was hot this time, and that improved the taste significantly. John was a good cook. After she had finished the pancakes, Amanda was a little regretful that there weren't any more. John must have noticed her disappointment because as he removed the tray, he spoke.

"Do you enjoy pancakes?"

"Yeah. It's my favorite food," Amanda replied, watching John set down the tray next to him as he remained seated.

"Hmm." He tentatively reached out to smooth her hair, and Amanda let him.

By now, it had dried completely, and felt soft. Not exactly long, but it reached past Amanda's shoulders. He felt regretful for attacking it earlier with the brush, but it had been necessary. _It_, he thought with a hidden smile,_ did not appreciate life._

Amanda did, or at least, was starting to. She was still scared of the glass of water, mostly due to him, but was starting to taste it and enjoy it. John knew that he would be the one to bring Amanda into a deeper understanding of life, and that this journey would have to involve a great deal of trust throughout the fear. He had plans in mind that would require her –voluntary—participation.

_But not yet,_ he thought. It was not even remotely time.

As John stroked Amanda's hair, he began to think about what their life had been like since she had arrived. The first week, of course, Amanda had been unaware. Taking care of her occupied most of John's time because even if there wasn't anything in particular that he could do, he always had to be there to monitor her. He'd slept in spurts during this time, always worried that in the short time he rested, Amanda's conditions would change and she would die because he was not there to help. For this reason, giving up his bed was not a large sacrifice. Gradually this fear lessened as Amanda's condition stayed stable, and on the day that Amanda awoke for real, John had felt truly comfortable sleeping through the night on the dingy couch.

Amanda had been awake for eight full days --this being the ninth-- but her energy level was fairly low. John imagined that this had to do with the heroin overdose/withdraw, but realized that there were probably other drugs Amanda had been exposed to which her body was still craving. She had been a fool to go to the cheaper drug dealer, but, he remembered that she had only been there once and it was bad luck that she hadn't used everything the first time she overdosed.

He had kept her bedridden for a week so that she could conserve her energy. That, and there really wasn't much Amanda could do, so it was better if she slept most of the time. Usually he woke her up (or found her awake) around 9 and would serve her breakfast in bed. She had a good appetite and always finished most--if not all--of her food. This took roughly a half an hour. Then John would give her a bath and help her dress, or to be more accurate, change into her other set of clothes. This took another half hour. He would try to engage her in conversation about anything, which was generally unsuccessful because Amanda was still terrified of him, and then Amanda would rest before lunch. John served her this, also in bed, between 12 and 2, depending on how tired she was. After lunch he'd try talking to her again, which was often less successful than the first time, and finally read to her for an indefinite period of time. The reading content varied; sometimes it was poetry by Shakespeare, and other times it was the newspaper.

After this the schedule varied. Sometimes, John would take Amanda into his living room and they would watch TV for awhile. John had guessed that Amanda had not watched TV much while growing up because she did not voice any favorite shows. If they watched TV, it was usually what John considered a family channel, but so far Amanda did not have any preferences. Of course, other times Amanda would use the time to rest before dinner.

Around 6, John would feed her and after that was Amanda's evening bath and then she would go to sleep. John imagined that she spent at least sixteen hours a day sleeping, but in spite of this rarely looked energetic. Perhaps she had been refusing to let her guard down, or perhaps it was a psychological response. She had been letting him in, slowly, over the first week, but all that really meant was she had gone from seeing him as someone who would kill her at any minute to a stranger who she was temporary staying with.

Yet in some ways the progress Amanda made was astounding. When she first woke up, Amanda had flinched at the slightest touch and shrunk away from all displays of affection. John had never considered himself to be a particularly warm person, but there was something about Amanda that made him want to hold her and hug her. Perhaps it was her meek manner, like a scared animal, or perhaps John was growing soft. In any event, Amanda had gone from this silent, cowering figure to appreciating affection. She rarely returned hugs or touches, but John could tell that she enjoyed them. She was even starting to get used to him holding her where she could not see, such as when he put an arm around her shoulder the other day. John realized that he had been incredibly lonely since Jill had left him, and Amanda was starting to fill this gap, though more as a child figure than as a lover. John was, after all, old enough to be her father.

Now he watched Amanda resting with her eyes partially closed, clearly enjoying having John's hand stroke her forehead. Every so often she would make almost inaudible noises that sounded happy. It reminded John of a small cat or dog. Even the way she slept, huddled under the covers, body completely hidden except for her face, struck John as animal like.

He spoke softly, now caressing her cheeks. "What would you like to do today?"

Brown eyes opened and peered at him thoughtfully. "I should try to get a job."

She did not sound particularly enthused by this prospect.

John chose his words carefully. "I'd rather you didn't, Amanda."

"Why?"

"I don't like to leave here unnecessarily, and neither should you. This isn't a very safe area and there are all sorts of people who would want to kill us."

He meant, of course, the police. She knew this and thought it best to keep silent.

"Okay," she murmured. There was a long pause and then she spoke. "What do you want to do?"

It was on the tip of his tongue to respond with "I want to play a game" but he knew that this would be too cruel, even if it was said in jest.

"I'd like to finish the movie we started last night," John replied, realizing that this would take less than a half an hour and they still had the rest of the day to fill.

"Don't forget the DVD," Amanda reminded.

John hurried back downstairs, found the DVD easily, and before long had located the last scene he remembered seeing with Amanda.

The structure of the room changed considerably now that it belonged to both of them. It had been large, with John's bed stuck in the corner of the room with a table on the other side. The tub had always been there in case John wanted to take a bath, but he preferred showers. There was a closet opposite the bed, a large wooden wardrobe where he kept his clothes and towels.

Now, Amanda's bed sat on the same side of the room, but in the opposite direction so there was about fifteen feet between the two. There was no lamp or furniture, and although John remembered he had an extra chest of drawers somewhere, there was no place to put any of her clothes or towels. She didn't complain, of course, but did wonder if she would be living out of laundry baskets for the rest of her life.

Across the room sat the TV on a large table, rather old, with a VCR and DVD player attached rather than part of the set. Under the table sat some of the DVDs John had just bought.

There were no decorations in the room. There was a window, but no posters or anything to give it character. The room felt large and bare, filled with empty space.

"Want to move the beds together while we watch?" John now asked. "There will be more room."

Amanda nodded and John easily pushed his twin bed next to hers. There was an obvious dent in the bed where the two mattresses met, but there was also significantly more room. Amanda had slept on a full at Liz's, and a queen while with Mike. Twin beds reminded her of the cot she had used while in prison, although there was no doubt that this one was vastly more comfortable.

She leaned against the wall as she watched John work, using a pillow as support. Now he was finished and, panting slightly, moving next to her.

Part of Amanda wanted to move her body even closer to the wall, but this would have required becoming two dimensional. John, sensing this, wrapped an arm around her and, tentatively, she leaned in towards him. His other arm joined her so her head was in some sort of trap, but she felt comfortable and had no trouble breathing. He pressed play with the remote, and Amanda tried to pull the new blankets over her body without being able to see them very well. John, seeing her struggle, let go and helped her move them over her shoulders.

"Are you cold?" he asked once she had relaxed against him.

She shook her head and felt his arms fall over her shoulders. She smiled to herself.

Amanda, having fallen asleep last night partly through the movie, did not understand it very well. The ending was happy enough, or seemed that way. It ended with a man and a woman falling in love, at any rate. It was not contemporary, but it wasn't old English like Shakespeare. She just didn't get it.

She did, however, enjoy spending time with John where neither of them spoke. It was unnerving, sometimes, to talk to him. Amanda could not help but feel that he was gathering information about her to add to his files of victims (she had no proof these files existed, but he seemed to be the type of person who would do this), except she survived when the other victims died.

So it seemed strange that John would be gathering information about Amanda after the trap unless he really planned to put her through another test.

The credits began and uplifting, rather cheesy, music began to play. It was obvious that the director wanted you to come out of the movie thinking that all was right in the world they had just seen, and so clearly the viewer should hope for that kind of ending in their own life.

Amanda didn't believe in happy endings until she met John, but even this wasn't exactly happily ever after. It was more happyish for a temporary amount of time.

But she imagined that it would be no fun to watch truly depressing movies in which every protagonist died and the villain continued to live and to pursue his (or her) villainy. It was better to watch an unrealistic, over the top happy movie than one of those.

"Did you enjoy it?" John asked, arms still wrapped around her back protectively.

Amanda turned her head to view his face. "I guess. Kind of confusing."

John nodded, lifting the arm that was now being crushed by her back. "Are you tired?"

"No," Amanda replied, and to her surprise, it was the truth. She felt very comfortable, but also awake. "What do you usually do during the day?"

As soon as she said it, she realized how stupid it sounded. Of course, John spent every day as Jigsaw, capturing victims to trap, and designing traps for new victims. Each trap could only be used once, she imagined, and he must have to spend days making each one. Granted, she hadn't seen him work on anything that resembled life threatening traps while she had been there, but what else did a serial killer do during the day?

His answer surprised her. "I watch TV. I do some writing. I cook. I also enjoy art projects."

He had probably made that puppet thing that spoke the directions to Amanda, and then reappeared on the bicycle after she passed the test. She shuddered. What was she doing here?

"Not just those projects," he added quickly, understanding her reaction. "I draw. Paint. Decoupage. Used to know how to do embroidery but can't anymore."

"Why not?" Amanda asked before she could stop herself.

John began to cough, turning away until he was finished. It sounded terrible.

"I often hurt myself with the needle and that's become unbearable now, after my diagnosis."

Diagnosis? Was he contagious? Would he die soon?

"You see, Amanda," he explained slowly, looking her straight in the eye, "I have inoperable, non treatable cancer that has started to spread through my brain. I don't have very long to live.

"That is why," he continued, "I've tested so many others, including you. It took me until then to realize I had been wasting my life. I was, quite frankly, tired of seeing people waste theirs."

A/N: Yeah, slight cliffie. Just wait until next chapter, though! As always, five reviews secures the next chapter. That is, I promise to post at least one day after receiving the fifth review. Since you all have been reviewing so quickly, I'm afraid that otherwise, I wouldn't be able to catch up. :)


	11. Chapter 12

Amanda stared at him for a moment, not moving, hardly breathing, not comprehending. Then she blinked a few times and John wondered if she was trying to hold back tears.

She tried to speak but couldn't figure out what to say. Amanda guessed the reason behind her own trap, now. Having survived it, John probably wouldn't want to put her in that kind of danger again. So she was safe with him—John obviously cared enough about her to nurse her back to health.

It explained the other traps, too. Amanda only remembered pieces from what the police had told her. One guy had to climb through razors. Another guy had to get medicine without catching on fire. Or something like that. The punishments had an eerie way of matching whatever crime the person had committed. Somehow, John learned what people did behind closed doors and punished them for it.

And now, he said, it was because he was dying and others were somehow shortening their own lives without realizing it.

She knew she had been living with a murderer but since agreeing to remain with John, Amanda had hoped that he had changed. Maybe, after seeing Amanda overdose, he realized that life was more important than people _appreciating_ it. That people didn't always change and who was he to decide which ones should be punished and which ones shouldn't?

Now, it seemed like her hope had been a foolish one after all.

She let out a deep breath. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

It did not seem like the right thing to say, but was anything right in this situation? Perhaps if she had a cure and could give it to John, that would be better, but she knew that this was impossible. Besides, she didn't know if John deserved a cure after killing so many people. He could hurt others.

John put his hands around her arms and pulled her close. She could smell his faint sweat coming out from his shirt; evidently this had been difficult for him to say. The smell made her sick. She let him hold her, but did not return the hug.

"I know you're angry at me, and you're scared of me," he said in a soft, low voice, "but can you ever know what life is, and what you're missing when you waste it, if you do not have some knowledge of death's certainty?"

Amanda closed her eyes and pulled herself away from the hug. John looked hurt.

"It's not that easy," she whispered. "Besides, the police showed me the others. Most of them don't survive."

John was silent for a moment, then spoke slowly. "Do you believe me to be a murderer, Amanda?"

His tone was neutral, but it felt ice cold. Her eyes burned. Everyone, at some point, had turned away from her. Now John was doing the same.

Of course he was a murderer. But how could she say that? He would put her through another test, or kill her, or do something else just as bad. Amanda knew that John was aware of his power around Amanda. Physically, he was only a little taller, and not incredibly strong, but mentally, he was overpowering. If he was faced against ten Amanda's, he could take them all down without blinking.

Amanda turned away from John, facing the wall instead. A small hole several inches below her eyes caught her attention. She willed herself to focus on that instead of the figure sitting next to her.

_How did it get there?_ She wondered. Then, _how long has he lived here? Who lived here before him? Did they cause the hole? Did he kill them?_

She suddenly felt ill. She covered her mouth with her hands, trying to hold back the impending vomit.

"Euggh…" she managed to say through gagging.

John, though unable to see her, clearly recognized the symptoms. At once, he lifted her out of bed without effort, and walked quickly to the bathroom. As soon as he placed her in front of the toilet, Amanda could feel the vomit burst out. Most of it fell inside the toilet but small pieces stuck to the seat.

It lasted over a minute. Amanda, who hated throwing up more than almost anything in the world, whimpered throughout it, and wondered if perhaps John had poisoned her food after all. But he stood behind her, holding her hair back with one hand and running his hand over her back with the other. He murmured comforting words until, at last, it was all gone.

Amanda turned from the toilet, sickened, not wanting to see what just came out of her. John, still holding her hair back, moved her towards the sink and began to turn on the water. He reached for the cup Amanda used sometimes and filled it partway with water. Soon, he was holding it to her face, urging her to drink.

Amanda took the cup with a shaky hand and willed herself to swallow the water. It helped get rid of part of the nasty taste, and most of the nausea, but it was hardly enough. Still, she didn't complain.

John, anticipating her needs as always, realized this and spoke. "You need juice or something."

Amanda knew from past experience that John was right, but she didn't think she could hold anything down. Before she could say this, John was speaking again.

"I'll make you some tea. That should help." He paused. "Stay here in case you need to vomit again."

He left.

"Okay." Her voice was meek, reflecting the complete exhaustion and surrender she felt. At this moment, she did not care about John's life history or his goal. She just wanted the sickness to go away, the pain to end.

Even if it meant dying.

A razor sitting in another glass, no doubt what John used to shaving, caught her attention.

Could she do it? She knew how to. She had cut herself before. But she might not die before John came back. How long did it take to make tea? Probably ten minutes, if that. Less if John didn't boil the water and just used the microwave. No, it was too risky.

She vomited again into the toilet and when she was finished, stared at herself in the mirror. A tired, very pale girl with dark hair stared back at her. She had seen herself that pale before, but usually that was after doing drugs. This ghost image had always scared her, so of course Amanda had to look closer.

She was still staring when John came back with the tea. She saw his reflection in the mirror as he approached her, set the drink next to the sink, and take her arm.

"Are you through?" he questioned, sounding sympathetic.

She nodded. "I think so."

He steered her out of the room with one arm, leading her to the bed, and held the tea with the other. It smelled good, like a mix of peppermint and raspberry. Once seated, John handed her the cup and she took a small sip. It wasn't too hot and tasted better than it smelled. It was calming.

John, who had been standing across from her, took a seat after Amanda swallowed a few more sips without becoming ill. He sat quietly, not saying anything as she drank. When she was finished, he took the cup and put it on the table beside her.

Perhaps he had put something in the tea because Amanda suddenly felt overwhelmed by exhaustion. She hated it. She was just starting to spend half of the day awake. Napping constantly, she felt, was weak. She wouldn't get better…she would fall into his hands more easily.

She struggled to keep her eyes open. "I don't _want_ to…" she began, fighting back tears.

"I know. It's all right." He ran a hand over her forehead again. He pulled off the covers and made her lie down. "Just for a little."

Part of Amanda wondered if John was going to try something. He wasn't moving to take her clothes off, so rape was probably out of the question. But what if she woke up in another trap? Or something else, worse?

When Amanda did wake up, she heard herself screaming and panting as though she had run a mile.

A/N: Yup another cliffie. And kind of short chapter...sorry about that. Next one will be kind of short, too, but I will try to make them longer.

As always, five reviews secures the next chapter being posted a day after the fifth one's received1


	12. Chapter 13

It was the bear trap nightmare again, but it was so much worse this time. For one thing, it felt more real. Amanda could swear she tasted the blood from the metal digging into her jaw. She could feel the man's organs as she searched his stomach for the key. This time, it wasn't there. She kept looking as the timer kept ticking. Suddenly, she had it in her hands, but it was slippery and fell out of her reach. It fell to the ground. Amanda pushed the body aside, trying to find the key, but the room was dark and the bear trap was ticking and ticking…

Suddenly the timer went off and she screamed as she felt it slowly expand, the pain increasing exponentially by the second.

If only it ended there. But just before she knew she was about to die, just when Amanda thought the searing pain would finally end, he was there.

She saw her father's face, laughing as he came at her, enjoying her pain but wanting to hurt her even more. He lunged forward…

"No! No!" she screamed in a half asleep state, tossing wildly under the blankets. She felt imprisoned by them instead of secure. She couldn't move. Her thoughts were fragmented. She had to find the key before the bear trap ripped her jaw open. Then she had to run away from her father before he could touch her…

She sat up so quickly her head hurt. Amanda heard herself breathing rapidly. She pulled the covers away from her upper body in an attempt to free herself. Somewhere inside her mind, Amanda knew it had just been a nightmare and she was not in any real danger, but it felt so real that this logic was submerged.

Except it was her that was being submerged. She felt hands on her shoulders, holding her down. She screamed and first tried to claw away at them, but when this didn't work, she tried to bite one of them. Her skin touched the flesh but she felt it rip away before she could clamp down. The hands let go and she could hear John's voice, but it was loud and angry, taking on a new level of power that she had never experienced before.

She opened her eyes and saw him standing over her. She cowered, still screaming. She couldn't stop.

"Amanda, stop it this minute!" he shouted, now sitting on the bed, unintentionally crushing her legs and putting a hand over her mouth forcefully.

Amanda stopped screaming, partly because she was afraid of John, but mostly because she was panting so much it was nearly impossible to do both. John removed his hand and transferred it to her other shoulder, and Amanda wondered if he was going to try and comfort her, but the grip was hard and John was now crushing both shoulders. She whimpered in pain and in disappointment.

_Really, I should have known better, _she realized.

But almost as soon as Amanda had begun to whimper, John let go of his hold on her upper body. He hadn't wanted to crush Amanda, after all, just scare her enough so that she would stop screaming and answer his questions.

It scared him to see Amanda in so much pain, but it worried John that it should bother him. He was becoming too close to the girl. And yet, if he wanted her to become his assistant, bonding with her seemed to be the only way to go. Fear only accomplished so much. Amanda might be loyal until John died, and then stop his work. It would be the easiest thing to do. John had to make Amanda understand why his work _had_ to go beyond his death.

"Where is he?" she whispered, peering around the room.

John followed her gaze, absentmindedly pulling her into a sort of reverse hug. Her legs were still crushed, though, and John suspected that he might do permanent damage if they remained this way. He shifted his weight so the girl could move. She stretched gratefully.

"Where is he?" Amanda asked again.

"Your father?" John asked, looking down at her beautiful straight hair. Jill's had been blond and curly, somewhat wild and exotic, which he had loved, but Amanda's was straightforward and easy. It needed no taming, only gentle care. He wanted to stroke it, to play with it, but his arms were wrapped around the scared girl. She was not exactly sitting in his lap, but they were close enough that Amanda could smell the soap she used in the shower.

"What?" Amanda feigned confusion.

John momentarily closed his eyes. "The 'he' you were just speaking about. Do not lie to me, Amanda." He sounded so harsh, and his face was less than a foot away from hers. She felt powerless. "I want to help you," he added by means of amends.

"My father," she whispered, body aching. She wished he would get away from her, but John's body seemed immobile. "He was there. When it went off."

"When _what_ went off?" John prodded, trying not to growl. He had no patience for this--why couldn't Amanda just come out and say what had happened? Clearly it had been worse than her recent nightmares that had been cured by soft words and hugs, but John couldn't help Amanda if she was determined to stay silent and self pitying.

"It…the trap…" She trailed off, not knowing the name. "_It!_" she repeated.

John's lips tightened and Amanda guessed he was trying not to smile. "Oh. That."

It was too much for her. "Let go of me!" she wailed, now wiggling out of his grip.

It wasn't hard--John let her go without a struggle. It took a moment for John to realize his mistake, but when he did, he spoke up immediately.

"Oh, Amanda, I didn't mean _that_," John self corrected, turning red. "I just didn't know what you meant when you said 'it' like that. I thought you meant something new…" He trailed off as Amanda's sobs increased. "Who's your father?" He asked on afterthought.

She turned around and gave John a horrible glare. "None of your fucking business!" she growled before turning away.

"Amanda…" He began to massage her shoulders. It occurred to John that he might have started with this. When Amanda let him, it always calmed her down. She was a scared animal, growling out of fear, but John knew that she would not try to bite her master again. He shouldn't have been so gruff when he found her screaming. Now, Amanda might not trust any kindness he performed. "Take a deep breath. Slowly," he instructed.

Amanda tried to obey. John felt her chest ride with the effort.

"Is he alive? Are you close?" he asked gently.

Amanda knew he was manipulating her, probing her for information, and it hurt. She hated to talk about it. She never talked about it. "He hurt me," she whispered, aware of how generic the words sounded. Hadn't she told the police that Jigsaw had helped her? Amanda had to be specific if she wanted his help, but she didn't know if she did.

Amanda had never really told anyone about her father's treatment. Her mom knew but couldn't, or wouldn't, do anything. Her sister was just as helpless. If she had told any of the teachers at her school, they would have called her a liar. Because the abuse was mostly emotional and sexual, Amanda did not have any physical scars to offer as evidence. This was something her father had taken great pains to point out when she, at age five or so, had yelled, "I'm gonna tell!"

Mike only knew the very basics; he locked her in the dark for hours on end. She didn't tell him about the sexual abuse because even though he didn't care that she wasn't a virgin, she thought he'd look at her differently if he knew. He'd pity her, and Amanda didn't want to be pitied.

She'd take understanding any day, of course, but she thought that this was too much to hope for. So she didn't.

But John was starting to understand. She could recognize the look of comprehension in his eyes. He didn't know what had happened for years on end, of course, but he had an idea.

"Did he hit you?" John asked softly, now rubbing the back of her neck.

Amanda nodded, with difficultly, and then shook her head. "Not like that."

John wrapped his arms around her shoulders and gently forced her to face him. "Another way?" he probed, staring into her chocolate brown eyes.

Amanda nodded slowly and then slouched forward. "I don't want to talk about it," she whispered. "Please."

John nodded, seeing that this was all he would get from her at that moment. She was so weak. Perhaps later, after Amanda had calmed down, he could find out more information. What he knew definitively was that the father aspect of the dream had been the worst part. Amanda had dreamed those bear trap dreams (as he called them) numerous times since her arrival. He had always been able to comfort her with hugs and gentle words. So what had been worse this time wasn't the test, but the paternal addition.

John hadn't known anything about Amanda's family before the test. Zepp had known nothing and he had acted as though it didn't matter. A girl doesn't overdose on drugs because of family issues when she lives with her sister, he had said, and John had claimed agreement.

"I want you to know," he said, slowly as he stroked her face with great care (a way to calm her as well as force Amanda to look at John), "that you can tell me anything without fear. They are all part of your old life…one of drug addiction, of being a stripper." Amanda flushed. "They won't hurt you here. I won't let them," he added, now gently pulling Amanda into his arms and propping her body against his as though she was a toddler.

Amanda nodded, somewhat unconvinced, but reassured. Pain relieved, she would not use the razor blade…not right away, anyway. John was offering her hope and, a new life with him. She knew that he could protect her in the ways that Mike couldn't, or hadn't wanted to. Maybe he wasn't really sick, and that had just been a test. Or maybe the diagnosis was incorrect and he'd live much longer.

"He won't hurt you. I promise," John added in a whisper.

_Maybe he tests people because he just wants people to enjoy and appreciate life,_ she realized, nestling her head against his shoulders.

He began to stroke her hair with one hand and Amanda felt her worries vanish. John was the only one to protect her. Perhaps he would even see to it that her father would be made to understand his mistakes. She smiled lazily.

After several minutes of this, John spoke. "Let's have a picnic."

"What?"

"There's a park not too far away from here. I'll make us lunch and we can have a picnic over there." He glanced outside. "It looks warm out, so this may be a good day to have one."

It sounded nice. She hadn't been to the park since she was a child, but her memories of being there with her grandmother were fairly pleasant.

"Okay."

"Grab a sweatshirt or something from your new clothes in case it becomes cold," John instructed. "Also take your new blanket, but the one that isn't on your bed. I'll find an older one downstairs." He kissed her lightly on the forehead. "We should be ready to leave in fifteen minutes."

"Will we need to drive?" she asked lazily.

"It's short enough that we can walk. So don't bring too much," he added, smiling.

Of course, John knew that they would be bringing back something else with them. He had seen Amanda wake up from nightmares enough to realize that she could use a stuffed animal. Regardless of what she would say.

He would have to be discreet about it, though.

"Amanda? Time to get up," he nudged.

"Just a few more minutes," she mumbled. "Please?"

She looked so peaceful that John relented. "Five more, and then we're getting ready."

He was getting soft. Soon he'd be calling Amanda his secret pet name, "kitten", to her face and using baby talk. Why, they'd spend more time with each other than working on his traps.

But this was the way to bring Amanda to rely on him so that she would have to carry on his work.

Besides, John realized that he enjoyed the hugs and the sense of normalcy Amanda brought to him.

A/N: Please review! As always, five reviews secures the next chapter in a day. (fifth review received Monday morning means following chapter will be published before Tuesday night) So please, please, PLEASE review! Did I say please? ;)


	13. Chapter 14

The walk to the park was an easy one, mostly because it was so nice outside. John had told Amanda that it was the last week in March, but it felt more like late April or early May. It was the kind of weather that you could wear a t-shirt in and be totally comfortable, or a sweatshirt and not be too hot. It felt like the mid 60's, and there was a lot of sunshine. Amanda wanted to lie down in a warm patch of it and stay there for several hours, basking in its warmth.

That was what John had in mind. John had packed lunch in a literal picnic basket, and carried other necessities in an old, grey backpack slung over his shoulders. Included among these was a small umbrella in case it rained later, but John was skeptical that it would.

Amanda carried her supplies in another backpack that was dark blue and borrowed from John. It wasn't heavy, but she was glad when they had reached the place John designated for her to put it down.

The park was a large grassy area with occasional benches and a torn tent under which sat long tables and fold out chairs. On the opposite side was a playground, currently in use by several children who couldn't have been more than eight, holding one of those tree house type structures ending in a slide, monkey bars, a merry go round, and a large set of swings. She looked at those fondly. While in elementary school, her playground had a set of three swings as the only source of entertainment. She rarely got to use them because of this, but when she did Amanda would spend all of her recess glued to one of them. It was the closest to flying she had ever gotten, never having learned how to swim.

They stretched out the blanket from John's "stash", as he called it, and then Amanda put hers on top, still bunched in a ball. John set the basket down and started to take out the food. Sandwiches, apples, grapes, and cookies began to appear on the blanket, looking very appetizing, but Amanda wasn't hungry enough to eat again.

She stared around the park. Their area was perfect. It was near the trees so that they got some shade, but also enough in the sun so Amanda could feel its warmth. It wasn't too far away from other people, but far enough so they could talk without worrying about being overheard. Even the ground was soft enough to sleep on.

Amanda took off her shoes and, after a few seconds' hesitation, removed her socks. She placed them a few inches outside the blanket, reveling in the softness against her bare feet. John looked up from his preparations and smiled down at her. Amanda grinned back. Then, curling her legs against her chest, she flopped on her side, facing the warmth of the sun. Her head lay against a warm patch of blanket. She closed her eyes.

Suddenly, Amanda felt a hand on her head. Or, to be more accurate, she felt fingers _scratching_ her head. Lazily, she moved her head out of the fingers' reach scrunching up her nose in annoyance. Seconds later, they followed. She moved again. They followed, accompanied by John's movement.

Defeated, Amanda opened her eyes and found John's face directly above hers, peering down at her with a look of amusement mixed with affection.

"What do you want?" she grunted, closing her eyes again.

Couldn't he just leave her in peace for a few minutes? Maybe she should wear sunscreen but it's not like it was eighty degree weather. Amanda wouldn't burn.

John laughed and continued to scratch her head. Maybe he had changed his scratching technique, but it suddenly felt nice. Even if it was the kind of thing someone did to a dog.

"I just wanted to know if the little kitten was hungry," he explained.

Amanda sat up, eyebrows raised in amusement. "Kitten?"

He smiled. "That's how you look when you're sleeping."

She made a face and snorted. "Isn't head scratching what you do with dogs? I thought you pat cats."

"If I did that, it wouldn't attract your attention. You'd just continue to lie there," John explained, still looking at her endearingly.

Amanda nodded. "Probably," she agreed. Remembering the question, she added, "I'm not hungry right now. We can eat whenever you're hungry."

"I'm hungry now," he replied, looking at the food sadly.

Amanda sighed. "Oh, all right."

Grinning triumphantly, John handed her a sandwich. "It's peanut butter again, but this time the bread is fresh."

"Glad to hear it." Amanda watched John devour his within minutes. Had this been his first meal that day? She had eaten less than half in this time.

By the time she had finished, John had finished a red apple and a milky way bar that Amanda had overlooked. Amanda, however, was already full and stretched out again, this time lying on her back. Still, the thought entered her mind that there better be another candy bar…or gummy bears.

John looked at her in the way a proud cat owner would view their pet resting in a cute position.

"Have you ever played cloud games?" he asked, starting to lie down next to her.

"Huh?" She turned her head to face him, confused.

"Where you look at the clouds and try to think of what each one resembles."

"Ohhh. Yeah, but not in awhile."

"Want to play now?" he asked, moving an arm around her.

"What happens if I lose?" Amanda asked tentatively.

"There's no winning or losing."

"Then how do you know when the game is over?" she queried.

"You're out of clouds," John replied, as though it were obvious.

She repositioned her head so that it was still on top of the blanket bundle, but on John's chest. In response, he wrapped his arms around her tightly.

"You go first," John instructed.

"Hmm…" She focused on the blob just above her head. "That's a rock. Your turn."

"A rock?" John scoffed. "How unoriginal. It's…" he paused. "It's a ball."

"No way," Amanda laughed. "It's not round enough to be a ball. It's a rock."

"Fine," John grumbled. Focusing on another cloud, he said, "That one's a rat."

Amanda could easily tell which one he was looking at, but it did not look enough like those pesky animals for her taste.

"It's missing the ears," she objected.

"The ears?"

"Yeah, the triangle shape." She studied it. "There's also no long tail. It's a rabbit."

"Where are the long bunny ears?" John protested. "I say it looks more like a rat."

Amanda shook her head. "No way. It's a rabbit."

"Rat," John insisted.

"Rabbit!"

Just as she said that, John began to move his hands under her arms and tickle her. She shrieked and sat up, trying to escape, but John was quicker and held her down.

"It's still a rabbit!" she spoke between giggles.

"Rat."

Now it was becoming hard to breathe. Amanda gasped for breath and tried to get out, "You win! You win!"

Soon she was hiccupping as she said this. John got the message. The tickling stopped but the hiccups stayed for a good minute.

"Are you okay?" he asked, holding one of her arms close to him.

Amanda hiccupped again, pouting. "Yes."

He handed her an unopened bottle of water. "Drink this."

Amanda obeyed but it didn't do much. She knew there were other, less pleasant ways to get rid of hiccups, but she didn't want John to consider resorting to those.

"I'm –hic—okay," she said quickly. "I just –hic—need to wait –hic—it out." Then, "You can't –hic—tickle me like that!"

John smoothed her air and planted a kiss on top of her head. "I'm sorry. I'll be more careful from now on," he promised.

She nestled against him. "I think –hic—it will be an hour before –hic—they're all gone."

"Want to continue playing the cloud game?" John pressed, still stroking her hair.

"As long as you don't –hic—tickle me to death!" Amanda retorted. "Or –hic—at all!"

"I promise," John laughed. He stared at the sky. "That one looks like a cat," he said, using his free arm to point to it.

Amanda laughed. "It has three—hic—legs."

"Poor kitten," John sighed. "Maybe it's sitting on the last one?"

Amanda looked closely and saw a cloud marking under the body that could be a leg. "Yeah, the other leg is just being lazy."

John scratched her head again. "Your turn, kitten."

She blushed at the endearment and scanned the sky. "That one…over there" she pointed "is a swing. Above it is a bird."

She felt John nodding. "A baby bird," he noted. "A little ball of fuzz."

"Still a bird," Amanda replied. She inhaled deeply. Were the hiccups gone already? As soon as she exhaled, one escaped from her throat. Nope, not yet.

"Over there…that's a polar bear," John commented.

"Looks more like a panda to me. Or a horse," Amanda added. She squinted. "If you squint it looks like a horse. See the tail?"

"Mmm hmm."

The game continued like that for another half an hour or so, after which Amanda heard her stomach growling. Laughing, John handed her what she supposed was her share of the food—the remaining half of her peanut butter sandwich, a bright green apple, fresh purple grapes, two soft chip cookies with the chips mostly melted, and a Hershey bar.

"If you don't want the candy bar, I'll be happy to eat it," John added eagerly.

Amanda made a face and rolled her eyes. "We'll see."

She ate partially relaxing against John, which caused him to steal pieces of her food. Amanda protested when this occurred, but she didn't really mind. He had packed more than she could possibly eat, and she wasn't as big of a chocolate fan as he had been. John ended up eating the candy bar and one of the large cookies.

Amanda felt at peace here. She couldn't remember the last time she had done something like this, but it was probably well before going to jail. Mike had been so busy that, even with him, these kinds of things were rare. It was unfortunate because these were the kinds of things Amanda learned that she most enjoyed in life, but there was never enough need to make time for them. Not when drugs had been available.

One of the swing sets had opened up and John dragged her over. The two sat in separate swings, almost flying, and Amanda felt the air brush her hair towards and away from her face. It felt like a mop, but the rest of it was enjoyable.

Hours must have passed before John decided it was time to head back. It was starting to get dark, he explained, and he'd need to fix them dinner. Amanda reluctantly helped pack everything up, looking around her sadly.

"We'll be back," John promised, watching her carefully. "Maybe the next time we get a day as nice as this."

Amanda just nodded and the two began to walk towards home. When they reached a shopping center complex, John stopped Amanda.

"I need to go in there" he pointed to the pharmacy "for a few things. I want you to wait outside."

Amanda looked alarmed. "W-why?"

John thought quickly. "I use various medications for my condition, especially the pain, that I'd like to keep quiet about. For now," he added, sensing Amanda's hurt.

He was lying, and not very well, and she was all too aware that it was a total lie. Unfortunately, it had to be done. The drugstore had John's medications, and he did need to pick up some more vitamins, but his main reason for going there was to pick out a nice stuffed animal for Amanda. He couldn't do it with her there, breathing over his shoulder and making comments about being too old for them. Somehow, he knew this was the best thing to do, to help Amanda with the nightmares, and once she saw it, she would understand. In the meantime, John didn't want her to think he saw her as a small child.

She was his daughter, however, and that meant something…

He reached into his pocket, pulled out his worn wallet, and took out a five dollar bill.

"There's an ice cream store a few stores down," he said, handing the bill to Amanda. "Why don't you get something while you wait?"

Amanda took the money but gave him a dirty look. John realized, a little too late, that this tactic might have worked on an eight year old, but Amanda was nearing twenty-three.

Or was she older?

John ignored the look, smiled at her brightly, and went into the store. He found the vitamins without effort on the counter (he had been using them most of his adult life and could probably locate them with his eyes closed) and then searched the children's toy section for an appropriate stuffed animal.

It was surprisingly difficult. Whoever was in charge of inventory seemed partial to dolls, and ugly ones at that. Gone were the days you could find elegantly dressed dolls with curled hair and china faces in toy stores. Barbie had taken over the world. What was available as far as stuffed animals went was scarce, and difficult to choose from. Worse, everything seemed to be marked up at least 50. A rabbit that could fit into John's hands, for instance, was nearly seven dollars.

_Closer to eight, after tax,_ John realized.

Hidden among an oversized giraffe that looked stoned and a rather cute, but very small, dog was a large, brown cat. It had Amanda's chocolate brown eyes, giving it a rather sympathetic look. The size was perfect—large enough to be able to hold and even use as a pillow. John took a look a the price and when he saw it was over thirty dollars, he nearly had a heart attack.

He decided to buy it anyway. It was cute, and very soft, and it wasn't like John would have another opportunity to do this sort of shopping without Amanda. He picked it up and head to the cash register. Just before paying, he saw a box of peppermint patties marked at ten cents each (_much_ more reasonable, in his opinion) and picked out eight, adding those to his bill.

"What a cute little kitten!" the woman at the cash register crowed in a baby voice as she rang up the cat. "Would you like a separate bag for him?"

_It's a "she", you squalling moron,_ John thought.

"No, thank you," he replied, smiling slightly.

It was his job to rid the world of people who didn't appreciate life, but he might want to add overall annoyances to society to his list.

He found Amanda waiting for him outside, holding two same ice cream cones with one hand and the change in the other.

"The chocolate one's for you," she explained, recognizing his questioning face. "Here's the change."

"Thank you, Amanda," replied John, surprised and touched by the gesture. He took the cone but waved his hand at the change. "No, you keep it."

Amanda shrugged, put the money away, and began to eat her strawberry ice cream cone. John did the same and joined her. They began the walk home, but slowly, since they wanted to savor their ice cream.

_We should probably want to eat dinner later tonight_, he noted.

When they arrived home, John turned to Amanda who was trying to discreetly lick stray ice cream off of her hands. He hid a grin.

"Amanda, I'm going to put some of the blankets away in our room. While I do that, could you cut up some carrots and slice two apples for me?"

Amanda swallowed, nodded, and John set off to the room. After washing his hands from the ice cream and putting the clean blanket away--the other one had been on the dirt all day so it would need to be washed--, he retrieved the cat from the bag. It _did_ look very cute. He cut off the price tag, and sat her on Amanda's pillow. Pausing, he fluffed the hair on her face and pushed it out of her eyes.

_Much _better.

A/N: Please, please, please review! As always, five reviews secures the next chapter the following day.


	14. Chapter 15

John then noticed the room was somewhat hot and decided that, given that Amanda liked going to sleep against a light breeze, opened her window. It was rather old fashioned—you had to physically push it up to open it, and it rarely opened easily. It wasn't so much a matter of strength as persistence and getting your hands on the right part. The handles were misleadingly easy but they nearly touched the top of the windowsill so holding onto them was next to impossible.

This time, the window didn't exactly stick but it wouldn't open very far either. After much effort, John managed to get it a little over half open and decided if that wasn't enough, he'd attack it later.

He adjusted the cat's fur one last time and headed downstairs.

Amanda had already finished slicing the apples and was almost done with the carrots. He put a hand on her shoulder as a means of greeting, and she nearly cut herself with the knife.

"God, John, don't scare me!" she yelped, putting the knife down on the plastic board. "I thought you were a murderer or something."

John leaned over and brushed away some stray hairs from her face. She smiled slightly at this. "I'm sorry, Amanda," he replied, and meant it. "I only wanted to say hello."

"Next time, say it instead of scaring the shit out of me," she grumbled as she turned back to her work. She picked up the knife and John could tell from the slicing sound that she was finishing the remaining pieces of carrot. When she finished, she placed the knife down and began to scoop up the pieces and place them in two pale green bowls.

"Duly noted." He squeezed her shoulder again and thought he saw her smile. "Anything you'd like to eat for dinner? I was thinking hamburgers and cooking some of those French fries we bought at Target."

Amanda chewed on her lip, considering. "The meat will take awhile to defrost, unless you want to heat it up in the microwave."

John shook his head. "No, that always ruins the taste." He glanced at the clock. "Let's have the carrots and apple slices now and eat in an hour or so. Or would you rather have something else?"

Amanda shrugged. "I'm not that hungry."

John walked to the freezer and retrieved the meat. "We'll cook the fries with the hamburger. Come with me. I have something to show you."

Amanda raised her eyebrows, but followed. "What is it?"

John gave her a thin lipped smile. "You'll see."

He led her upstairs to their bedroom. The bathtub was still seated in the middle. It had been too much trouble to move back and, besides, Amanda didn't mind the location.

Inside the tub, however, was something new. John had been working on it for the past week or so, while Amanda was sleeping, inspired after she had her first bath. It was a break from his usual traps in terms of difficulty, but it was still quite intricate.

It was also hard to understand, at first glance, exactly what it was. John had named it a head rest, but he knew that technically, that name had already been taken. It was a sort of circular wire with a large circular cushion in the middle, and on closer inspection walls would form around he cushion on contact. There were several settings the head rest could be set on, depending on where you moved the lever. Off the side, nearing the end of the wire, was a panel containing a dark blue button.

John thought it looked more confusing than menacing and was prepared to explain what it was for, when Amanda started to step away from him, a look of horror appearing on her otherwise beautiful face.

"Is this another game?" she asked, wrapping her arms around herself as though trying to form a shield. "John, whatever I did, I'm _really_ sorry. I appreciate life. You know I do. I don't want another test."

John started laughing, which of course scared Amanda even more. Fortunately, she was currently pressed against a wall and couldn't move any further away from him in that direction.

"It's not a game," John explained, holding a hand out to her. "It's not even remotely lethal. I promise, no one will be hurt by this."

Amanda tentatively took his hand and walked closer to the tub, inspecting it. "What _is_ it?"

John kneeled down beside the tub and, reluctantly, Amanda did the same.

"It's for your head," he explained. "When you had your first bath, I saw that your head naturally went under the water when you stretched out. At first, I thought of putting a cushion or something there, but then I started thinking. What if Amanda accidentally fell asleep and drowned, or hit her head against the tub and cracked her skull open?" He squeezed her shoulders again. "That wouldn't work. So I made this." He crawled into the tub to demonstrate. "When your head touches the cushion, walls spring up preventing it from escaping." He lay his head against the cushion and, sure enough, two large walls popped up, immobilizing it. "This way, you can rest, and even fall asleep, without worrying."

Amanda peered at it. "How do you get your head up from it?"

John laughed, head still trapped. "I'm getting there, silly. Now, this button controls the walls." He pushed the blue button and the walls vanished. "When you press it, the walls disappear." He paused. "Well, technically they move under the head rest eight inches, which is how high it was, but for all purposes, it disappears. Your head's free. But," he added, "the button has to be pressed before the walls can go down, and it's far enough out of the way to prevent accidental movement. At the same time, it's not hard to reach." John grinned and stood up. "One of my more useful inventions."

Amanda looked awestruck. "Wow, that's pretty cool. Can I try?"

"Go ahead," John laughed.

Amanda crawled into the tub, gingerly placed her head against the cushion, and felt it stay there as the walls crept up. It didn't hurt at all, or even fell uncomfortable. She reached for the button, pressed it, and in less than a second, the walls were gone.

"Very neat," she complimented.

"Thank you." John beamed. "It's for you to use whenever you want, of course."

Amanda turned around in the tub to look at it again. "It will be great, especially at night."

"You're always half asleep by the time you're finished," John agreed. He lifted her up gently, carrying her in his arms, and gently set her on the ground. "No test," he reassured.

Amanda breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank God…hey, what is _that_?"

Her eyes had turned to the kitten.

"It's something I bought for you at the pharmacy."

She walked over to her bed to inspect it. When Amanda picked up the stuffed animal, she held it by the front legs. Feeling its soft fur, Amanda grinned and began to pet it with the other hand.

"It's very cute," Amanda noted. "But what's it for?" Remembering herself, she added, "I'm almost twenty-three, John."

"You're never too old for stuffed animals," John insisted, looking serious. "Besides, I thought the cat could help you when you had bad dreams."

Amanda stared at him blankly. It occurred to John that perhaps Amanda had never this when she was growing up.

"To hold," he explained, awkwardly. "To hug."

"She's very cute," Amanda replied, looking at the cat again. John couldn't tell if she was upset or confused by the gift.

"I'll still be there, of course, when you have a bad dream," John added quickly, "but this is something additional, to help calm you down. But it's also something to…to cuddle with when you go to sleep."

Amanda nodded, holding the cat close to her. "It's great. I just never had anything like this. My dad…" She trailed off. "We couldn't afford toys."

John wrapped his arms around her, nearly suffocating the poor cat. "Now you do."

He felt her nod and return the hug. "Yeah. Thanks."

Amanda had always known that she didn't have the best family life and hadn't had the best childhood. She knew that John was trying to show her a life she had missed and a life that, without him, she would have never known at all.

It just hurt to get a glimpse into his world. To know just how _much_ she had missed.

He clearly saw himself as a type of father figure for Amanda. But could she ever let herself become a daughter? She was too old for what he wanted to give her, and too cold.

John had helped her, but in the long run, was Amanda really fixable? Could she ever heal?

She had no idea.

A/N: Shortish chapter, I know. Hopefully the next one will be longer. Please, please, please submit a review! 5 reviews means the next chapter's posted the day after receiving the fifth.


	15. Chapter 16

"Amanda?"

John's voice snapped Amanda out of her musings.

"Are you all right?" he asked, approaching her.

She nodded vaguely. "Yeah, I'm fine. Thanks for the cat," she replied, sounding distracted.

John sighed. Communication was not their strong point, and it didn't seem to be getting better over the past several days. At first, he had justified it by telling himself that Amanda was scared of him, that she was still very sick. Now, though, she couldn't still be worried about him trying to hurt her?

Well, this was not true. She had been terrified of the head rest until John had explained what it was for. He sighed. She was certainly slow to trust people.

Had he known what Amanda had been thinking, he might have felt more patient with her. After all, they were both concerned about the same thing, which was her ability to care for and trust John.

John reached out his hands, awkwardly, wanting to pull Amanda into a hug yet unsure if she would accept it. Gratefully, she extended her own arms and walked into the hug. She held him tightly, tighter than usual, but it did not hurt or feel at all unpleasant. This was good. It was something.

When she let go, a minute later, she smiled tentatively. She spoke softly, so quietly John had to strain to hear her. "I think I want to take my bath now, instead of after dinner."

John nodded. "Would you like any help?" he asked.

She nodded. "Could you wash my hair? It feels so good when you do it," she added, flushing, by way of explanation.

She spoke so tentatively, as though sure John would say no, or perhaps do something cruel like hold her head under the water. He could feel himself soften again. He was so used to _doing_ things for her, and then ceasing to do them when Amanda was able to take over, that it hadn't occurred to him she enjoyed them, looked forward to them. Perhaps it was even part of the bond they were beginning to form.

_She really is just like a child,_ he thought, surprised that he hadn't seen it earlier.

John had just seen Amanda as incapable, even incompetent. Temporarily so, of course, but still, a lesser human under his care. Now, it seemed, love was playing a larger role in his actions.

"Of course, Amanda," he replied, smiling.

She smiled back, looking relieved.

"You start the water. I want to take out the meat to defrost," John instructed, putting a hand on her shoulder.

Amanda just nodded and moved towards the tub.

"Afterwards, we can play Scrabble," John suggested, walking across the room.

"What's that?" Amanda called.

"It's a board game. I'll bring it up," John promised. "It's fairly simple."

It was difficult to find. John hadn't used it in well over a year. Jill used to play with him (he would let her win—she would claim she went easy on him) on occasion. When he did find it, it was in the basement with a box of other board games he hadn't used in years. Not surprisingly, he found that there was dust all over them. He tried to wipe some of it off with a sleeve, but all that did was make his shirt dirty.

John wondered why he hadn't thrown them out before. He must have forgotten. He forgot that he even owned Scrabble until ten minutes ago. The word "game" had been associated with traps in his mind for months now. He knew that there was another meaning to the word, of course, but he never used it.

Well, until now.

He lugged the box upstairs, set it on the kitchen table, and wiped it off with a paper towel. Looking at the dust stained shirt, he sighed, walked to the laundry room, and changed into a clean shirt. Remembering the other reason he had left Amanda, John searched the freezer for the hamburger meat. Fortunately, that was much easier to find. A hard lump wrapped in plastic sat on the lowest shelf. He took it out of the freezer and placed it on the island. He walked back to the table and, after a moment's hesitation, removed the entire box and headed upstairs to see Amanda.

She was already soaking in the water, her head securely positioned within the head rest. Her eyes were closed, but she was smiling slightly. She looked so serene there, so peaceful. He smiled, approached her, and touched her shoulder lightly. Her eyes opened lazily.

"Hello," John greeted, kneeling against the tub. "Are you ready?"

Amanda paused. "Few more minutes?" she asked.

He nodded. "Okay, kitten."

He'd have to find a better nickname for her in the water. "Kitten" wasn't accurate; cats despised water. Her ease put her in the fish category, but there was nothing fishlike about her appearance. John stared at her body language and facial features, trying to come up with an appropriate animal with which to associate.

_Dolphin?_ John visibly shook his head. Fortunately, Amanda's eyes were closed and she didn't see. _No, too playful._

After all, Amanda wasn't the type of person to dunk others in a pool. She didn't seem to be the type of person who would enjoy swimming laps.

Amanda simply _thrived_ in the water. Her body seemed freer, her face less constrained.

Perhaps a mermaid? But those didn't exist.

Mercat? That might work. A cat who lived in the water. John repeated the word inside his head. Mercat. It had a nice sound to it.

"Ready?" he asked, smoothing out her wet hair.

"Okay."

She felt around the tub until she found the button, and John saw the walls fall down.

"How's that working?" John questioned. "Does it hurt at all?"

Amanda shook her head. "It's fine."

He poured shampoo into his hands and began to apply it to her hair carefully. She giggled when he touched the middle of her neck…

"Are you ticklish?" he asked.

"Um, maybe?" she laughed. "I'm not telling."

"That means yes, silly," John replied, rubbing the shampoo on the top of her head.

"Hmph," she replied. "Just not here, please!" she added.

"I won't," he promised, still massaging the top of her head. "Maybe after your bath, though…"

She groaned. "Meanie," she declared. Then, in a more quiet voice, she added, "Please don't, John."

"I won't, kitten," he promised.

John continued to massage her head until his hands felt like they were about to fall off. She looked so happy, though, that he thought it was worth it. He began to rinse off the shampoo, using the spray with one hand and covering her forehead with the other. Amanda lay on the head rest throughout this, and John wasn't entirely sure if she was still awake until he saw her left arm move.

After the bath, a very peaceful looking Amanda lay stretched out on her bed as John lay out the pieces for the game.

"You're going to fall asleep if you stay like that," John warned, raising his eyebrows.

"No, I won't," she replied, eyes closed. She shifted so that her face was touching the pillow. "Are we going to eat soon?"

"I forgot!" John groaned. "I'll cook everything and then bring it up?" he asked, seeing that Amanda was not about to move.

"Mmmkay," she replied, opening her eyes.

He kissed her on the cheek. "You're so pretty," he cooed. "You should try to think of a name for the kitten."

"A name?" she asked blankly.

"All stuffed animals need names, Amanda," he replied.

Then he left the room to make dinner.

Amanda opened her eyes, stretched, and then reached for the stuffed cat and held it tightly, the face aligned with hers.

"I love you," she whispered, stroking its ears. "Now, what should your name be?"

She stared at the cat carefully, continuing to pet it. "Well, you're obviously a girl, and you're light brown with dark eyes. Kind of like mine," she added, laughing. "That's probably why John chose you. How about Brownie?"

"I like that name!" She made her voice high and squeaky, speaking for the cat. "It's nice to meet you, Amanda."

"It's nice to meet you too, Brownie."

"What is your name?" the cat asked, moving her head around to look at her surroundings.

"My name's Amanda," Amanda replied.

"Meooooow," the cat replied, resting her head on the covers. "This bed is nice."

"Isn't it? John got it for me," Amanda replied, grinning. She was having fun with this.

The two continued talking until John entered the room, holding two plates with hamburgers and French fries.

"Do you have a guest?" John asked, trying not to smile. "I thought I heard someone here."

She made a face, returning back to reality. "That looks good," she said, trying to change the subject.

John set one plate on the table beside Amanda, but was having too much fun to end the conversation.

"What's her name?" he asked, petting the cat with his free hand.

"Brownie," was Amanda's reluctant response.

"Very nice," John complimented. "We'll play Scrabble after you finish eating." His eyes twinkled. "You might not want to let Brownie get into that."

Amanda rolled her eyes, but smiled. "Very funny."

A/N: As always, the five review rule applies, but I can't guarantee that I'll post the next chapter the day after receiving the fifth review. I can say, however, that if I get five reviews, I will update again within a week. It's just a lot of work and right now, I'm going through a dry period as far as writing goes. I'm hoping this will help. So, please review!


	16. Chapter 17

Amanda rolled her eyes, but put Brownie next to her before taking a bite of the hamburger. It was really good. John was a decent cook, but she hadn't taken much notice of that before now. Food had just been food, and unless it was spicy (which Amanda hated) or grossly undercooked (one of Mike's problems), she generally ate what people gave her without comment. This may have been because her parents had been poor and even though they could always afford food, meals often came from fast food places like Wendy's. She didn't have much to compare it to, and other people in her school ate the same way—or less.

"This is great," she complimented after finishing half of it.

John smiled and reached for her arm. "The trick is adding enough salt," he explained. "And not overcooking or undercooking it."

Amanda nodded, for lack of anything to say, and continued eating. Once again, John finished before her, and was well into his French fries by the time she had finished the burger.

_He'll probably try to steal some of mine after he's finished,_ she realized, remembering the picnic and hiding a grin.

Sure enough, John was eyeing her closely as he finished his last fry. Amanda had just finished her third, and caught him looking at them and giving an occasional, overdramatic sigh.

"You could just make more for yourself," she noted, pushing her plate towards him.

"You don't like them?" John asked, helping himself to the fries by transferring half to his plate with a fork.

_Kind of silly, since he'll eat them with his fingers,_ Amanda thought, snickering.

"I like them, but you obviously like them more." In response to John's raised eyebrows, Amanda added, "Otherwise, you wouldn't give me pouty looks when you finish yours."

"Is 'pouty' a word?" John wondered.

She shrugged. "If it's not, it _should_ be," she replied, biting into a fry.

"If I make more for myself," he explained, smiling widely, "it doesn't seem fair to you. It's better to give you the same amount and guilt you into sharing them with me."

Amanda raised her eyebrows. "You could just make for both of us whatever you think you'll eat."

"Then I won't be hungry for yours," John protested. "They'll go to waste."

He had a point.

"Okay. I give up," she laughed. "They are really good, though. I like this kind."

"They are good," John agreed. "Less fattening, too. Half as much as the ones I used to get, and no trans fat."

"Which doesn't really matter if you eat twice as many," Amanda retorted.

John hit her gently on the hand in response. "Are you ready to play Scrabble?" he asked, noting that the rest of her fries were gone.

She, of course, did not try to convince John to share his remaining three. Three very _large_ ones. Still, he gobbled them up quickly in case Amanda changed her mind.

Amanda handed John her empty plate and then reached for Brownie. "How do you play?"

John reached for the board and began to set it up on the bed between the two of them. The board had some sort of spinner on it and letters with plastic walls on the sides (not unlike the head rest) which would make the wooden letters easier to remain, even on the rumpled bed. Amanda had played the occasional board game, but nothing that looked like this.

_It must be expensive,_ she thought. _Not new, since it looks kind of worn._

That made her feel a little better. There was already some wear and tear to the game, so it wasn't as though she had to treat it like a priceless work of art.

Not that Amanda had ever been around a priceless work of art.

"I'm about to explain, kitten," John replied, still setting up the pieces. "Be patient."

Amanda took the time to rearrange her pillows. She loved to sleep with her back against the wall, which meant the pillows would be on that side of the bed, but this was more of a sitting up game. She moved them to the head of her bed, giving her plenty of support.

John noticed. "Would you like some more?" he asked, and before Amanda could respond, he had risen from the bed and walked over to his bed. He removed three pillows and tucked them behind Amanda's head. He swatted Amanda's head with the last one, a large light purple pillow with yellow lining near the edges, before surrendering it to her.

Part of Amanda's hair stood up, caught by the static electricity. She tried to pull it down as John collapsed into laughter.

"Thanks for the pillows…not for the hair mess up," she replied, trying to glare at him.

"Aw, you look cute like that, kitten," John insisted.

"Mraaw!" Amanda made a disgruntled cat noise and even let a small hiss escape.

"Okay, no more. I'm sorry." He reached over and kissed her on the forehead (it seemed to be his favorite spot) and smoothed down her hair. "How's that, kitty?"

Amanda jumped out of bed to look in the mirror. "Better," she replied before returning to her bed.

"Good. Now, onto Scrabble?" John asked.

Amanda nodded. "How do you play?"

"Everyone—which is you and me in this case, but up to four people can play at one time—chooses seven letters, at random, from the bag." He held up the small purple bag that said "Scrabble" on it in dark, bold letters. "You use your letters to make words, but they must connect with the existing word. Obviously, whoever goes first has the advantage."

"Who decides that?"

"We'll each pick another letter from the bag—which we then return to the bag—and whoever gets the closest letter to A goes first," John explained. "Any questions so far?"

"Lots, but there's more, right?"

"Correct. Now, when it's your turn you can use your letters to form one word, but you can also create a word from another word…for example, if 'bug' was on the board, you could use an S, if you had one, to spell 'bugs' and with that S you could make another word, such as 'song'. Other than that, you can't make more than one word. Understand?"

Amanda nodded again, biting her lip as she tried to concentrate on what John was saying.

"Each letter gives you a certain amount of points. Vowels, along with a few other letters, are only worth one. K is worth 5, for instance. X, Q, and Z are both worth the most. There's only one of each of those," he added. "If you manage to use all of your letters on one turn, you get the score for the word and an additional fifty points.

"Once you use your letters, you pick others to replace them with. If you use three letters on one turn, you'll pick three more. You can also exchange a turn to change all of your letters," John recalled. "But if you do that, you won't get any points and you can't use any of your new letters until the next turn."

"What words are okay?"

"Anything in the English language. Anything that's not a name or a place. No abbreviations, or contractions." John paused. "I have a Scrabble dictionary somewhere, but it's probably with the other games, or in the basement."

"That's okay," Amanda replied, quickly.

"At the end of the game, when there are no more letters left to use, whatever letters you don't use count against you. So if you have two E's, you subtract two points from the total. Whoever has the most points wins."

"Sounds simple enough," Amanda smiled.

John laughed. "It sounds simple, but it's actually very difficult. Don't worry. I'll go easy on you the first time."

Amanda folded her arms. "And what if I win?"

"Then I let you win." John grinned widely.

"Hmph. No way. We'll each play our best and whoever wins, wins."

"Fine." John gave Amanda a sad look, which caused her to burst into giggles.

"Let's get started." Amanda dug into the bag and selected seven letters, then narrowed her eyes as she tried to think of words to use with these letters.

John went next. It was impossible to guess what he was thinking.

They picked letters to see who would go first. Amanda got a F. John got an X. Amanda bit her lip in concentration.

John had already taken out a piece of paper and written "Amanda" and "John" in his messy handwriting. He held the pen at the paper, ready to tally the scores.

Amanda finally chose "SPARK" with five of her letters. The L and the J would have to stay unused for awhile.

John used the K in "SPARK" to begin the word "KINGS".

Amanda stared at her new letters. E, I, L, T, and P were the new ones. None of them were worth a particularly large amount of points. She used the S in "KINGS" to create "SPLIT", earning a double word score.

"Good word," John complimented as he used the P in "SPLIT" to begin "PIECE". He received a double letter score on I, but since that was a vowel, he just got an extra point.

The game became increasingly difficult as more words showed up on the board. John never revealed the scores, but Amanda guessed that they were about even. At one point, however, she lucked out and was able to use all seven letters to spell "PRINCES", with the P from "SPARK", which put her in the lead because she received fifty extra points for the usage of seven letters, and then additional points for landing on a triple word score. John groaned as he added up her new score.

By the end of the game, Amanda won, but the score was fairly close, at Amanda's 320 to John's 306.

"You did very well for your first game," John complimented, taking some of the pieces off the board. "But if you hadn't used all seven letters that time, I would have won."

"Yeah right," Amanda scoffed. "It was fun though. Want to play again?"

She looked so eager that John didn't have the heart to say no. "Brush your teeth and wash your face first while I get the board ready for the next game," he replied.

Grinning, Amanda headed for the sink. She worked quickly, and her timing was perfect; John was removing the last letter from the board—a Q, which Amanda had used to spell "QUITE"—when Amanda jumped back into bed.

This time, John won by a landslide. The final score was 400 to 220, and John hadn't even been able to use his X.

"You're getting better," John encouraged, but Amanda could see that he was trying not to gloat.

"Next time…" Amanda threatened, helping John remove all of the pieces.

He laughed and attacked her head with the pillow.

It was still too early for bed, so John asked Amanda if she wanted to see what was on TV. He lay next to her with an arm wrapped around her shoulders and the other arm holding the black and white remote. Unfortunately, there didn't seem to be anything good on. After channel surfing a few times, John sighed. He turned off the TV just as the news program started talking about "the jigsaw killer". If Amanda noticed the show's content, she didn't give any indication of this to John.

"Looks like we're not going to find anything tonight." John sighed. "Want to play a last game of Scrabble?"

He asked this unwillingly; having put the board and the pieces away, John didn't feel like setting everything up again.

Fortunately, Amanda shook her head. "I'm getting sleepy," she replied, hiding a yawn.

John sat up when he heard this. Perhaps he could get some work on his latest trap in before he, too, turned in for the night. The head device needed to close at exactly the right angle or it wouldn't kill the victim, just flatten his face a little.

"Could you stay?" Amanda asked quietly, hopefully, reaching for his arm.

John sighed. "Are you afraid of having another nightmare?"

It certainly wouldn't be the first. Amanda had troubling dreams almost every day, though less recently over the past few days. He had hoped that the fresh air would help her, even make her too tired to dream, but she was still scared.

Amanda nodded, but it was easy for John to see it was more than that. He sighed again.

"Let me get changed, first," he requested, planting another cheek on her forehead.

_Perhaps she'll be asleep by the time I get back,_ he thought hopefully.

It was certainly possible. He'd have to be slow about changing into his night shirt.

Amanda made a noise of consent and closed her eyes, holding Brownie up to her chest.

After brushing his teeth and washing his own face, John changed into his softest (and oldest) night shirt. Amanda still had one of them, and he wondered if she would wear it now that she had a drawer's worth of nightgowns. He probably shouldn't say anything right away, in case she misinterpreted his question.

Amanda was still awake. He gently moved her aside, moving towards the wall side of the bed. He'd hold her tightly to prevent Amanda from falling out of the bed, but he needed the support of the wall to ensure that _he _didn't fall out. The bed was only a twin…fairly small for two people.

Once John was settled in, he pulled Amanda towards him, wrapping his arms around her body. One touched her waist while the other one stayed over her shoulder. She settled against him, so close John could hear her heart beating.

It was nicer than John had expected. He hadn't cuddled with anyone in such a long time…he had forgotten how wonderful it felt. Amanda laid her head against his shoulder, and her long hair fell into his face, tickling his nose. His grip was tight, warming the child—as he still saw her—as well as securing her. He tried to find the most comfortable position for both of them, and when he did find it, Amanda sighed with pleasure.

"You're so comfy," she whispered, turning her head to face him. A chunk of her dark hair touched his face as she moved, and John had to struggle against the urge to sneeze.

"You are, too," he replied. He smiled. "I'm glad you asked me to do this."

"Really?" Her face turned into a wide smile. With the hand that had been previously holding Amanda's head, but was now free since she found his chest a better pillow, he stroked her hair for what felt like the millionth time since she had arrived. As he did this, her smile widened and her eyes began to close, slowly.

"Yes," he replied, more to himself than to her.

Amanda lay in his arms, half asleep, feeling happier and safer than she had in years. She was so comfortable that she _didn't_ want to fall asleep right away. She just wanted to enjoy the feeling of being held so tightly, in the arms of someone who clearly cared about her.

The only thing that worried her was that John might not want to do this again, and would isolate himself from her. Men were like that, she knew.

As though reading her mind, John spoke to this concern in his soft, gentle voice. "We can do this again," he promised, still caressing her hair. He heard her make a contented noise. "Good night, my little kitten. I love you." John said the last part so softly that he was sure she couldn't hear it.

Then again, he hadn't really intended her to.

"Night, John," she whispered, snuggling under the blankets and enjoying the feeling of his soft shirt against her cheek. She could feel sleep take over as she let herself surrender to the warmth and softness around her.

Moments later, John followed her into a deep and very restful sleep.

A/N: Sorry for the delay. Part of it was due to my computer basically crashing (fortunately I had sent a copy to Kim here) and another part was due to ffn's problem over the last few days with uploading documents. I'm pretty confident you won't have to wait nearly as long for the next chapter. Please review...as usual, I need five to post. :)


	17. Chapter 18

John opened his eyes, blinked several times to clear his vision, and let out a low grunt. He felt someone next to him, which struck him as odd. He hadn't slept with a woman since Jill, and that had been nearly three years ago. The figure next to him was petite, with long brown hair pouring over her back and her shoulders. John peered at himself, lifting an edge of the blanket. He was clothed. So they had _not_ had sex. Well, good.

Had he gotten drunk last night, and gone to a bar?

The figure he was sleeping next to was also dressed. He had been holding her very close to him.

John yawned and, in that second, the last few weeks came back to him. He recalled the previous night vividly. Playing Scrabble with Amanda, then falling asleep next to her. Why had he done that?

Oh, right. John remembered that she had asked him to stay with her. He had said yes.

Jigsaw had also muttered something about loving her, which he now ferverently hoped she had not heard. Was he an idiot, getting so visibly attached to this former drug addict?

_Stop it,_ John told himself.

It had gone all right. Amanda trusted him. This was all going according to the plan. He had not intended on emotional involvement, but he couldn't deny that he hadn't foreseen that from the beginning. After all, John had wanted Amanda to survive, and _Jigsaw_ had wanted her to survive. Usually Jigsaw didn't care about the test subjects. If they died, it was their fault.

Jigsaw told John that he needed Amanda to live not out of any personal feelings towards her, but because he needed a survivor to continue his work. Zepp was not incompetent, but he was not Jigsaw material. He was the lackey, the sidekick. He would never become another Jigsaw.

They were almost two different beings, even though they lived in the same body. John was who the man had been before the cancer. Not that this man had been remarkable in any way. Smart, somewhat hard working, lazy, unable to commit, deceptive. Yet Jigsaw made this man look like a saint.

Jigsaw was the person John strived to be after surviving the accident. It had been John who drove him to suicide, but Jigsaw wanted to live and had made his body survive the fall. Jigsaw had called the police. Jigsaw had listened to Zepp when the inferior man told him about others who wasted their lives. Jigsaw had vowed to stop wasting his life, and teach others the same lesson.

Or they would die trying.

A small smirk made its way onto John's face.

Jigsaw was usually the one in control. He was more forceful. He knew what he wanted. He was cold, ruthless, and calculating. John was more tentative, and had begun to regret the games after seeing the bodies pile up. Both John and Jigsaw had wanted to save Amanda after finding her on the floor in a heap, but it was John who took over during the past couple of weeks, caring for her and urging the drug addict to trust him.

Not that Jigsaw hadn't crept out, on occasion. Usually, though, this was hazardous to Amanda's emotional health.

Not that Jigsaw cared about this, but John knew a traumatized Amanda would be unwilling to continue Jigsaw's work, and Jigsaw allowed John to have his way in dealing with the girl.

Over the past several days, ever since Amanda woke up, Jigsaw had been nearly dormant. Compassion was hard for him to understand, and John was better at that. The sicker side of the human watched as John coddled the grown woman, calling her "kitten" (of all things!), holding and bathing her as though she were a toddler. It disgusted him, but John had insisted it was necessary, so Jigsaw lay low.

Now, he watched Amanda lay there, hugging her stuffed animal as though she were five instead of a grown woman, soon to be twenty-four, and cursed John for letting things get so far out of hand.

"It can be both," John now insisted. "Her emotions will help us."

"You fool. You just want her as your pet," Jigsaw sneered.

"Shut up." John closed his eyes again, willing Jigsaw to disappear. He did.

Amanda opened her eyes, groaned, and turned over. She saw John sitting next to her with a contemplative look on his face and reached for the cat. It was towards the edge of the bed, inches away from falling. She picked her up and hugged her to her chest.

"Sleep well?" John asked, removing his right arm from her shoulder and stretching.

She nodded and looked out the window. Sunlight was pouring in and a large patch had settled around Amanda's face. She rubbed her eyes with the hand not holding Brownie and sat up. She leaned against John's side and yawned.

"What time is it?" she asked as she felt his fingers play with her hair.

John glanced at his watch. "6:03," he replied.

"Uggh." Amanda collapsed onto the pillows, her hair falling out of John's grasp. "Way too early."

John tried to position Amanda so that her head was in his lap so that he could continue to play with her hair. "You went to bed early," he reminded her lovingly. With that motion, Jigsaw seemed to disappear entirely.

John was glad.

"Ungodly hour," Amanda insisted, leaning her head against one of his knees. She reached out and pulled the blanket over her head. "Good night."

John snickered and removed the blanket from her face, tucking it under her neck and taking the opportunity to tickle her. He let a self satisfied grin escape when Amanda giggled involuntarily and began to thrash under the covers. She hissed in response.

John resumed playing with her hair. "What do you want to do today?"

Amanda gave some unintelligible response and pulled the blanket over her face again. John removed it automatically and began to stroke her forehead. She practically purred.

"Do you want to eat breakfast soon?" he asked, correctly assuming he had been forgiven for tickling Amanda.

"I'm not hungry," Amanda replied in a half grumble, half whisper. "Lemme 'lone."

John sighed. He had known for days that Amanda was not a morning person. She'd probably be happy staying in bed until noon. He, on the other hand, was hungry and yearning to stretch and move around. Unfortunately, it seemed as though he was stuck as Amanda's pillow for an indefinite period of time.

Carefully, he pried himself off of her. Amanda's head fell onto the pillow making a "plop" noise. She groaned.

"You trying to kill me?" she grumbled, opening her eyes.

"You won't get up," John replied, trying not to smile. "I don't want to be your pillow all day."

"You're a nice pillow," Amanda mumbled as her eyes shut again. Before John could respond, he heard her snoring softly.

_Silly kitten,_ he thought.

Still, Amanda's sleepiness presented him with an unexpected opportunity to work on his traps. She'd be out for at least three hours, by the way she was snoring, and the heat from the sun might prolong her rest. John could easily finish Mike's trap within that time. After that, he just needed to trap that spying fool and perform the operation.

He grinned sadistically. He didn't usually enjoy putting people in pain, but this would be greatly amusing. The stupid man was a spy for a living. He'd never gouge out an eye, even if both would be shortly crushed by the metal trap.

He walked to his office, peered over the diagrams, and unlocked the second drawer containing the trap. That was nearly finished…now only the key remained. He'd need to melt some metal for that…John frowned, already immersed in his project.

What felt like minutes passed before John took a break from the project. He checked his watch and was alarmed to find it was past eleven. He'd need to check on Amanda. Surely she'd be awake now…

John placed everything together and had just finished locking the drawer when he saw a shadow in the doorway. He frowned. Hadn't he locked the door?

It was nothing, just a book or a tree from outside. John forced himself to concentrate, put away the key to the drawer under a potted plant, and stood up, stretching. He didn't want to turn around right away. He was sure he had closed the door, if not locked it, and besides, Amanda had to be sleeping. If he turned around, he wouldn't see her and he would have worried for nothing.

John knew he was becoming paranoid in his old age, but who wouldn't be after committing himself to his line of work?

John washed his hands at the sink with strong soap, careful to rid himself of any remains of metal. He hated the smell, but it was necessary. He couldn't risk getting chemicals from his traps into his food. Or Amanda's.

He walked over to the door and found that he had locked it. He shook his head, annoyed with himself, and unlocked it. He crept back into the shared bedroom, but Amanda was nowhere to be found.

"Kitten?" he called, forcing himself not to panic. _She's probably just in the bathroom._

He knocked on the door. "Amanda?"

He heard the toilet flush and the sink turn on, but Amanda didn't reply. "Kitten?" he asked again, ignoring the knot in his stomach.

He knocked again, then tried to open the door, but it was locked. He had the spare key in his office, but John was more concerned with why Amanda would lock the door. She didn't seem to be afraid of him anymore.

"Are you all right?" he asked again. "Please open up."

"I'm fine," came the strained reply. "Hold on."

Seconds later, he heard a flush. Then, the start of water. Finally, the door unlocked and Amanda appeared in front of the door, looking red.

"Why did you lock the door?" John prodded. He inhaled, and stopped abruptly, coughing. "What is that stench?"

"My period." Her tone was embarrassed, but matter of fact. "Besides, I always lock the door when I have to go."

"You do?" John walked past Amanda into the bathroom, located a bottle of air freshener under the second cabinet below the sink, and began to spray generously. It took some time, but John soon found himself able to breathe without wanting to hurl.

"_That's_ why," Amanda clarified, leaving the room. "It stinks."

"So I've noticed," came the matter of fact response. He paused for a second before asking, "Is it always this bad?"

Amanda shrugged, a response that John missed because he was facing the toilet and spraying directly into it. When he had finished that, he turned around and placed the bottle back into the cabinet as though he had done this all of his life.

"Can I really know?" Amanda asked rhetorically.

John shrugged. "Use that whenever you have your…"

"Period," Amanda finished, lips twitching as she tried not to laugh.

"Yes." He shut off the lights in the room and quickly closed the door behind him, as though sure the smell would come back at any moment. "Time for breakfast." Under his breath, he muttered, "As if I could still eat after _that_…"

Amanda tried to stifle her giggles. John led the way to the kitchen.

"What are we going to do today?" she asked, taking a seat at the wooden table. It looked gloomier than she had remembered. Amanda frowned. John had no taste in furniture. Or maybe he wanted his house to appear gloomy.

"Do you know how to cook?" John asked, sitting down next to her. "I was thinking you could make breakfast."

Amanda rolled her eyes. "I can't even make toast without burning it."

"I see I have a lot to teach you, then," John laughed. "Come on." He half lifted, half dragged Amanda out of her seat, ignoring her half hearted pleas. "You have to start _sometime_," he pointed out, kissing the top of her head.

"I'm going to burn the place down," she grumbled, pouting.

"I'll be with you the whole time until you know what you're doing." John paused. "Then, if you burn the house down, it's your fault."

Amanda let out a half groan, half sigh. "Where do you want to start?"

**A/N:** Hope you enjoyed this chapter! Please review…I need five to begin the next chapter. I'm hoping the next one will be up by the end of this weekend.


	18. Chapter 19

John grinned. "First we take things out of the refrigerator," he teased, walking towards the refrigerator.

"I know _that_," Amanda retorted. "I'm not that stupid."

She sounded vaguely hurt, and John realized that maybe the teasing had been too early. After all, the real reason he was teaching her was because John knew that, at some point, he would lose his ability to take care of himself. Most likely, it would not be for another two years, but the doctors had predicted that as the tumor grew and the headaches increased, it would become virtually impossible for him to do anything that did not involve sitting down or, later on, lying down.

Amanda now knew that he was sick, and had roughly five years left. Although John hadn't been explicit, he guessed that Amanda had some idea about the physical deterioration of his body during this time. If she was still there when John needed her most, Amanda needed to be able to take care of him entirely. This meant leaving how to prepare food for him.

Especially since _he_ would no longer be able to provide for her.

Yet he had to keep the mood lighthearted or else there was the very real danger that Amanda would break down, and then he would break down. Then, when John lost his ability to function, they would both starve.

"Let's start with something basic," John suggested. "How about toast?"

Amanda raised her eyebrows. "Do you have a toaster?"

John nodded, opened a set of drawers, and removed it. "I don't use it much, but it should still work."

"Okay."

He plugged in the toaster, turned it to "medium", and retrieved some bread from the refrigerator. "Put it in carefully, like this." He slowly inserted a piece of bread. "Don't force it, but don't be afraid of it. Your turn."

He handed the other piece of bread to Amanda, who cautiously followed his instructions. The _click_ showed that she had done everything right.

"Good job, kitten," he smiled. She grinned back, face turning red. "Once you hear a popping sound, that means it's done. I set it to medium, so it will be burnt around the edges, but not entirely burnt. When it's done, it will pop out of the toaster and then you should—carefully—grab the part of the bread that's popped out. You might want to wait a few seconds so it doesn't burn you."

Amanda nodded. "What if it's not done enough?"

"Then you put it back in and place it on a higher setting. Also, always unplug the toaster when you're done, and don't run water near it, or else you'll electrocute yourself."

Suddenly, there was a popping noise and Amanda nearly jumped out of her skin. John tried not to laugh.

"That just means it's done. I'll take the first one…" He gingerly lifted the bread out of the toaster, aware of how intently Amanda was watching him. "Your turn."

Amanda approached the second piece of bread as though it were a bomb that was about to explode. Hands shaking, she put her fingers around the nearest corner and pulled. She yelped in surprise when it came out and didn't burn her, nearly dropping the bread in the process. John rolled his eyes.

"Good work, kitten," he said, planting a kiss on the top of her head. "You can relax, though. It's not going to bite you." Amanda managed a laugh. "Now comes the hard part…do you want yours with jelly or without?"

"What kind do you have?"

John checked the refrigerator. "Apricot, strawberry, and raspberry."

"Raspberry, please."

John removed the jar from the shelves and then retrieved two plates and a knife from the drawers. He eagerly spread jelly on his piece, and then handed the knife to Amanda. She seemed much more at ease with this stage.

"Mmm," she mumbled as she took a bite. She closed her eyes briefly. "This is good."

John laughed, but it was true. The first cooking lesson had gone fairly well. Granted, things would get harder from here, but it was nice to know that Amanda could successfully make one of his favorite foods.

_Next lesson is pancakes,_ he decided, finishing the bread.

After they had finished, John poured some cheerios into two bowls and handed Amanda a glass of milk. "The first lesson went well. I think that's enough for today, though. From now on, I'll show you how to make something, at least once a day." He paused, then added, "After a week, there will be a test."

Amanda groaned. "No way," she grumbled.

"The test won't be life or death. You won't even get graded," John promised, hugging her with his free arm. "It's just to see what you've learned and what we need to work on."

She pouted, but he saw comprehension in her eyes. "Fine."

This move, he realized, satisfied both John and Jigsaw. In order for John's work to continue, after all, he had to teach Amanda how to take care of him. It might be fun, but Jigsaw understood its necessity.

Somehow, knowing the reason behind this made it much less enjoyable for John. He hated thinking that everything he was doing had some ulterior motive. Even though he loved Amanda as a daughter, she was still a means to an end. Unless he decided to give up on the traps altogether, that would remain a constant in their relationship.

He hated this. He could see the improvement, the _daily_ improvement, within the girl. She was happier, more confident, and more productive. Even Jigsaw believed that as long as people were these three things, they didn't need to be tested.

This meant that if he was any other person living under Jigsaw's rules, he could be happy living a carefree life with Amanda as his adopted daughter. He could watch her life her life, and become a part of it. If she met someone, got married, and had children, they would all become a part of John's life.

Instead, he was sentencing himself to a life of isolation. What Amanda did after his death was no concern of his. She could get married and have children, or adopt children, or even adopt children and not get married. But not until after he was dead, and even then she would have to keep this life a secret from them, or involve them completely.

The second choice disturbed John. He liked the idea of Amanda marrying a nice man and together, they would continue John's work. He did _not_ like the idea of raising a child in this sort of world. It would be unfair to the child, and what's more, the child would never fully understand what it meant to appreciate life because he, or she, would always be judging others to see if they were appropriate test subjects.

A part of John wanted to abandon his work entirely and live the rest of his days with Amanda. The trouble with this, he knew, was that other people's appreciation of life was at stake. Abandoning the tests and traps would be selfish. Since he would die soon, it was up to him to create a legacy that Amanda would follow.

He watched the woman as she carefully ate her cheerios, staring at the pattern on the bowls. They were lined with flowers, and had belonged to Jill. That had been when she had moved in with him, expecting that this would make him propose. When she moved out, she forgot about the bowls and John didn't have the heart to throw them out, girly as they were.

"Were these your family's?" Amanda asked quietly, staring at the pattern.

"Not exactly," he sighed. "They belonged to Jill."

She looked up at him. "Your daughter?"

He laughed. "Past girlfriend. She left awhile ago."

"When you got sick?" Amanda questioned, setting the empty bowl down on the island.

John shook his head. "No, well before then." He didn't want to say anymore. Thinking about her still hurt. "Come on. You need to bathe, and get dressed."

Amanda nodded, not asking any more questions, but understanding that John's Jill must have been like her Mike. She reached out to hold his hand, and he accepted it.

A/N: I know, kind of short chapter. I'm struggling with writer's block. Once again, I need five reviews before I post the next chapter, and if anyone has some advice for future chapters, I'd be glad to hear it!

Also: I just want to make it clear that this fic is not Amanda/John. Their relationship is how the movies describe it—father/daughter. I'm not opposed to Amanda/John fics, nor to them as a couple, but you won't find that here. At all.


	19. Chapter 20

He stayed with her, as he always did since her arrival. Amanda had become used to his presence, even used to him seeing her naked. By now, she knew that he wouldn't hurt her when she was like this. It wasn't even something that she consciously thought about so much as an awareness of this fact. Knowing that John would not try to rape her or kill her was as obvious to her as the fact that the sky is blue, or clouds are white, or the grass is green. Despite her terror on the first day, it was something she easily accepted.

Had someone else come in and seen this, Amanda probably would have wondered if they showed any uneasiness.

It was the same way with the headrest. She acknowledged it as something John had made for her, out of kindness, but certainly not something that was meant to harm her, or even could be used to harm her.

It came as a shock, then, when she nearly twisted her neck using it that morning.

Amanda had blamed John at first, but it had been the surprise that had caused it opposed to something he had done. She knew, even as he assessed the damage, that John wouldn't hurt her on purpose. Her test, which still haunted some of her dreams, had been incredibly fair and deliberate. There were no loose ends to tie up, no tricks. Once Amanda found the key, the lock had opened easily, and the bear trap came off almost as easily. Based on what the police had shown her regarding previous traps, the other tests had been just as straight forward. Varying degrees of difficulty, naturally, but still easy to understand, though clearly almost impossible to complete.

Amanda was relaxing in the water, eyes closed, when John spoke.

"I have something I want to talk to you about," he said quietly and deliberately.

On impulse, Amanda tried to sit up, but forgot to press the release button. Her neck ached as it fought against the metal bottom, and droplets of blood formed in the water. She shrieked, more out of surprise than terror. She tried to move again, but once again forgot to press the button, and her head would not move.

Her arms flailed and she was sure that she was drowning. Her heart raced as she let out a scream. Her initial fears seemed confirmed, and Amanda knew that it was a trap, and she was going to die.

John's hand reached into the water, pressing the button, and Amanda's head fell beneath the surface. Grabbing onto her back, he pulled her up and she started coughing and gasping. He held onto her until she regained her breath and was able to talk. His fingers ran over her back as Amanda fought to recover from what happened.

"Are you all right?" he asked finally, still supporting her body.

Amanda coughed again, spit showering the water and John's arms, and tried to speak. "You scared me," she accused. Her voice sounded weak and raspy.

"I know," John soothed. "It was my fault. I'm sorry."

She fell into a coughing fit as she tried to speak. "God, that was scary." She tried to laugh. "I thought you were trying to kill me."

"Me? Why?" His eyes narrowed with disbelief, and his tone had turned harsh.

She shook her head, inhaled deeply, and exhaled. "I forgot the button. When I couldn't get my head out of there…"

John laughed softly, understanding. "You know I would never hurt you."

"Yeah," she smiled, "but when you're drowning it's kind of different."

John appeared to accept this explanation. "Let me see your neck. Lean back…good. Now forward," he instructed. "Hold up your hair."

Amanda obeyed, still shaky, and waited for the diagnosis. "How bad is it?" she whispered. It was easier to speak softly and besides, it didn't seem like something that could be asked in a regular voice.

John barely heard her. He touched the surrounding area gently. "Let me know if anything hurts."

"Okay," she whispered.

He pressed his hands around her neck, starting at the top and stopping just above her collar bone. Amanda had been determined to say nothing unless it was unbearable—she didn't want to sound like a baby—but ended up letting out a small noise whenever he hurt her. Finally, he was finished.

"I'm finished. You can hold your neck normally." He paused. "There shouldn't be any problems with your shoulders, but does it hurt anywhere else?"

"Just my chest. Am I okay?"

He smiled. "You're fine, kitten, as far as I can see. The cuts are just scratches. You're just scared."

She tried to stand up. "I'm finished here," she said shakily, trying to laugh it off.

Nodding, John handed her a towel and she dried herself vigorously as she stepped out of the tub. John unplugged the water, which had taken on the faintest pink tinge from the blood, and watched Amanda with the eyes of a concerned father.

It had scared both of them, but John wondered if maybe it had been more of a coincidence that just when he was about to bring up continuing his work, Amanda's near accident had occurred. Jigsaw told him to wait until later in the day, and then approach her about it. John said that it would have to wait until Amanda knew him more, and that what had happened was proof of her deep rooted fear.

On this battle, John won out.

Amanda brushed her hair carefully, wincing every time she pulled at a knot. After a few minutes of watching her struggle, John took the brush from her and began to run it through her hair.

She sighed. "I'm not five."

"I enjoy it," he replied. It was true—it had a calming effect on him. It seemed like the right thing to do, parental, even if his adopted daughter would be twenty-four in a few weeks. "Do you mind?"

She sighed again. "Not really." She paused. "You said you had something to talk to me about?"

"Oh, yes." John wracked his brain for a topic. "Your birthday is coming up soon. It's in the first week of May, isn't it?"

"The 8th," she replied.

"Is there anything you want, or anything you'd like to do for it?" he continued, finishing with the last piece of hair and setting down the brush.

"I'm not a birthday person," she replied. "It's not a big deal."

Technically, Amanda guessed that this was true. Her parents never really celebrated it with her when she was growing up. At school, the policy was a standard chocolate cupcake (free) which didn't taste as bad as some of the other things they served, but was nothing she looked forward to. She had only started to get used to celebrating them with Mike, on his insistence, when Matthews had her arrested. The last one must have been four years ago.

She opened the drawers of her dresser and easily located a bra and a pair of underpants. After putting these on, she began the much harder search for a low cut t-shirt and her new favorite pair of jeans. John studied her carefully, viewing her backside, but could tell that Amanda was hiding something. He couldn't see her face, but he recognized her body language.

Once dressed, Amanda turned back to face him and forced herself to smile.

He sighed. "You're lying."

"So what if I am?" she replied defensively. She knew she was being ridiculous. It wasn't the most personal of questions. John was probably just asking to be polite. He expected her to say she wanted to have another day in the park with him, or she wanted them to watch a movie together while she could eat as many pineapple gummy bears as she wanted. She should have said something like that.

Why hadn't she?

John didn't say anything. He just watched Amanda, waiting for her to speak. He took a seat on the unmade bed that had shared.

"It doesn't matter," she said lamely, wanting to look away from him.

She started to walk past the bed, but he caught her by the arms. It didn't hurt, but it aggravated her all the same.

_Why does he have to be so damn good at catching people?_

She tried to pull out of his grip, and succeeded. She started walking towards the door, a smile playing at her lips. He wasn't that strong. She could take him down, after all. He had lost most of his mental power over her.

She could feel John's stare burning into her back, making the smile vanish. She turned around.

"What?" she asked grumpily.

"Sit down next to me. I want to talk."

"Well, _I _don't," she grumbled, aware that she sounded like a petulant four year old.

She couldn't quite bring herself to walk away, though.

"Amanda." His tone was soft, gentle. Perhaps deceptively so.

She sighed, walked over, and glared at him. "Move over," she ordered.

John obeyed. She plopped down next to him, arms folded. "There. I'm sitting. Are you happy?"

He picked up the stuffed cat. "Would Amanda like to play with me?" he asked in a squeaky voice.

"Give me that," she grumbled, taking the cat. "Brownie does _not_ talk like that. _Honestly_."

She said the last part in her "Brownie voice".

He laughed and then wrapped his nearest arm over her shoulder. "I'm sorry, Brownie," he apologized.

Amanda shrugged off his hand. "It's okay," she "made" Brownie say.

John inhaled, then slowly exhaled. "Amanda, what's wrong?" he asked gently.

Amanda paused before speaking in a short, annoyed tone. "We didn't really celebrate them growing up. Later, yeah. Then I got arrested and that kind of ended things."

"I see," he replied.

"It's not something I like to think about," she tried to explain. "Makes me remember stuff I want to forget."

"About being in jail?" he questioned, putting his arm around her shoulder again.

This time, Amanda let him.

"That and other things." She sighed. "I don't like thinking about it, much less talking about it."

"Maybe talking about it would help," John countered. "One way to move forward in life, and gain happiness, is dealing with and letting go of past regrets."

"I've done nothing I regret," Amanda replied. "Not like that, anyway. It's what's been done _to_ me that I don't want to go into."

John put another arm around her shoulder, forcing her to look at him. Amanda wanted to close her eyes, but she couldn't. She was too scared of what she might see.

"You need to let go, or you're just giving them more power."

"And how the fuck do I do that?" Amanda snarled. "_Let go, let go_," she mimicked. "God, that's what I hear all of the fucking time but no one says just _how_ to go about it."

Hot tears burned in her eyes, impairing her vision. She blinked, and a few fell down her face. John gently wiped them away with his second hand. More replaced them. As John brushed those away, he spoke as gently as he knew how.

"I don't have the answer to that, but the first thing you can do is talk about it," he murmured, rubbing her shoulders.

"It hurts," she sniffled. "I just want to forget everything."

"Shh," John whispered, hugging her tightly. "It's okay. I just want to help you."

Amanda tried to take a deep breath, but only managed a shallow one. She felt like something was caught in her chest. She tried again, and the second one came out a little stronger.

"I hate seeing you like this," he sighed. "Please…let me help you."

Maybe it was the sincere, begging tone. Maybe it was because Amanda was tired of rebelling.

"Okay," she said, surprising herself. "What, exactly, is it that you want to know?"

"Tell me everything," he ordered, but his actions did not match his harsh words. He was pulling a blanket over Amanda, still managing to prop her against him, maintaining support.

"Everything?" Amanda feigned confusion, as there were certain parts of her life she hated to recollect, let alone speak about.

John smiled despite the situation. Amanda was a terrible liar. Her emotions were her weakness.

Well, _one_ of her them.

"What was your family like?" he asked, staring at her with those piercing eyes.

"Awful," she replied. She tried to speak as though she was giving John a basic, irrefutable fact. Perhaps if she could answer his questions objectively, the emotions surrounding the events wouldn't come through. He had to see her as weak, but this might make him respect her.

John paused before continuing the interrogation. "Explain."

"My mom worked all the time. My father—" She paused, hating to use that word to describe that ever present figure in her life. He had only been there to hurt her and, to a lesser extent, Liz. He wasn't like the other loving parents belonging to her classmates, ones who picked them up from school, took them for ice cream, and asked them about their day. "He was a jerk."

Sensing that Amanda wasn't about to continue, John prodded further. "How so?"

"Mom worked hard. She worked a few jobs because he couldn't get his lazy ass out of the chair. Except when he used the money to drink and gamble. There was never enough. He'd hurt me and lock me up in…" She paused again. "In dark small rooms. I was so scared of the dark, but he'd leave me there for hours. Felt like days." She shut her eyes. "He also raped me."

Having said this, it was easier for Amanda to talk. The words seemed to spill out of her. Sometimes, John would interrupt to ask a question, and Amanda would find herself moving in another direction, seemingly meaningless, until it got back to the original topic.

Hardest was talking about Mike. Much harder than talking about Detective Matthews and the time she had spent in jail. She wasn't sure why, but she thought it was because he now meant so much to her. Her life had never been normal but living with him was probably the closest she got to a regular adult life. It wasn't something she needed to hide from people. Not like taking heroin, cutting herself, or going to jail.

Amanda talked until she could feel herself growing hoarse. She coughed a lot near the end as an attempt to clear her throat, but she might as well have done nothing because her throat just began to hurt after the tenth time.

Finally, she stopped talking and looked up at John for the first time since she began. Amanda had been studying her hands as she ranted, finding them easier to focus on than this deranged murderer.

At first, John didn't say anything, and Amanda couldn't tell what he was thinking by reading his expression. As soon as she started to feel scared, he spoke, startling her for the second time that morning.

"I want you to continue my work after I'm dead."

A/N: I know it's been awhile since I've updated, but I only got three reviews on the last chapter. I wouldn't even post this until I got more, but it's been awhile and I decided to make an exception for once. From now on, though, I really need five reviews if you want the next chapter. I probably won't even start writing the next one until I get the reviews, but I can promise to have it up soon after I receive the fifth. So please, please, PLEASE review this…it really only takes a few minutes. Thanks.


	20. Chapter 21

Amanda stared at John, not moving, not even blinking, until he started to become nervous.

"Um…Amanda?" he tried, putting a hand on hers.

"You want _what?!_" she demanded. Her voice, raspy from giving her life story, hurt as she spoke. She coughed, trying to clear her throat, but when she spoke next, it hurt even more. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

John had asked himself the same question, on numerous occasions, since she had survived the bear trap test. Never had it seemed more appropriate.

He cleared his throat, even though he knew it didn't need it, using the time to think of some type of response. Had Jigsaw escaped unnecessarily? Was it too early to be doing this?

He could shrug it off, say that he was just kidding. Buy Jigsaw didn't like that idea and neither John nor Jigsaw particularly enjoyed lying. Especially when Jigsaw knew that sooner or later, Amanda would have to work for him and learn his life lessons before he died. Otherwise, everything they had done would be wasted. Jigsaw wanted to create a legacy. His work could not end with his death. It _had_ to continue.

"What are you doing?" Amanda asked again, eyes narrowed. The hand beneath John's had become a fist.

John could see her flinch every time she spoke. Her voice was terribly hoarse, so he imagined that it hurt her to talk. Amanda did well with pain, though. She had endured various injections through the drugs she craved, and John knew that she cut herself on occasion.

He hoped to promote that. Pain in itself was useless, but applied to the right direction, it could serve its purpose. John's best designs came when he was suffering headaches that the medication never entirely took away.

"I want to help you," he explained. "I want to offer you an opportunity."

"For what?!" she spat. Spray touched his face, but John did not bother to wipe it away. "One day I'm your pet kitten, now I'm an apprentice?"

Tears welled up in her eyes as she spoke.

Oh, so _that_ was what it was about. John nearly sighed with relief. Amanda would do anything for him, but he had to make her understand that she would be doing this for herself. Becoming his apprentice in order to continue his work after John's death would empower her, because it would keep her away from drugs and tell her, every day, how important and precious life was. The only reason she was hesitating was because Amanda was afraid their relationship would change.

John nearly scoffed at that. Of course things would change after she began to work for him. Yet she must have known that they could not spend the rest of his life on picnics. He had important work to do, and every day he delayed was one less day of progress. Doubly so if Amanda agreed to carry on his work.

"You're still my kitten, Amanda," John promised. "You mean everything to me."

"Then why…?" she nearly wailed.

"Because I want my life to have a purpose, and I want yours to have one after I'm gone. Amanda." He put both hands on her shoulders and stared at her evenly. "I only have a few more years left before this cancer takes my life away completely. It's already taking me away, bit by bit. I want people to see how important life is."

"By killing them?" Amanda countered, face hardening.

"If they want to live, they will live. You survived. Everyone has a chance, but they must make a choice." He paused. "You should know better than anyone else that there are rules."

"I'm the only one who's survived."

"Then why shouldn't you be the one to carry on my work? Can't you see how this is meant to be? You are the only survivor and you will, from your experience with the bear trap and your learning from me, be able to teach the world to marvel at life."

"So I kill some people? Big deal. After you're gone, the police will hunt me down next. They'll find me, too."

So part of her hesitation was that Amanda did not want to return to prison. John couldn't say he blamed her. Prison might be preferable to participating in one of his tests, but it was hard to live one's life to its fullest potential if he or she were locked in a small room all day and night.

"Listen to me and do what I say. Then you won't be caught." He smiled. "Unless you want to be. You may find yourself with the power should they find you."

"You're fucking crazy," Amanda sighed.

"I'm perfectly sane," John replied, slightly offended by this assessment.

"It's not like I have a choice, do I? That's why you broke into Liz's apartment. That's the reason you wanted me to get better." She rolled her eyes. "I should have known something was up. You're a murderer."

"I've never killed anyone," John protested. "I simply place people in situations in which they must act or will die."

Amanda scoffed at this, but said nothing more about it. "Fine, I'll do it, but under a few conditions."

It was Jigsaw's turn to scoff. Amanda had no real power here, and if she didn't realize this, she was a fool and it had been stupid of Jigsaw to choose her.

"What are they?"

Amanda inhaled. "This better not become everything we do. I want some kind of a normal life within all of this."

John nodded. "Of course."

"Don't you dare put me in any more traps."

John sighed. "You won't be in anything like the bear trap, and you will always have additional information so you can solve the trap. But I am thinking of entrapping several people in a house, including Detective Matthew's son. While I would not make any traps for you, you would know how to complete them all."

Amanda paused before answering. "I just don't want to wake up in a fucking trap without knowing anything beforehand."

"Agreed." He paused. "Anything else?"

Amanda slowly shook her head. "Just don't let things change too much, okay? I hated my life before, and now…"

John nodded and pulled her into a hug. Jigsaw tried not to shudder at this display of affection.

The two of them were still at odds.

John felt relieved. The worst was over, or so he believed, and Amanda had agreed to help him. She might think he was a murderer now, but she'd soon realize that John, and Jigsaw, had been right all along. She would thank him for placing her in the bear trap, and look to him as the father figure he saw himself. Everything he did was for their mutual benefit, and even if Amanda viewed him as a hateful snake now, it wouldn't last.

It couldn't.

A/N: As always, five reviews and then I'll start on the next chapter.


	21. Chapter 22

Amanda lay motionless in bed, staring through her eyelids at the white ceiling. An ant scurried across, though how it managed to enter through the closed windows eluded her. On the other side of the room, John lay in the other twin bed, snoring loudly. A few weeks ago, she would have stifled a laugh. John had many eccentricities, but his snoring had to be the funniest. He sounded half gagged, and half choking some of the time. The air that came from his mouth was rancid, and strong enough to push a small object out of his path. His stomach sometimes rumbled when he snored, as though dictating that he eat even though unconscious. He did not resemble Mike in the slightest.

It was night, Amanda knew. It was too dark to be morning, even twilight. Yet she had been laying there for hours, and the urge to sleep was becoming harder and harder to resist. She shut her eyes tightly, then opened them again, as an effort to keep herself awake.

John had said the first test would be within a few days, involving a male photographer and a doctor he saw semi regularly for checkups. Neither appreciated life enough to spare themselves a trip to John's torture chamber, as Amanda privately called it, but John hadn't given many details aside from that.

His treatment towards her hadn't changed dramatically during the past few weeks. If Amanda had expected to find herself a test subject, a live dummy to test out John's traps, she had been gravely mistaken. He still made it clear that he cared about her. They still shared happy moments, like when they had been to the park and later bought ice cream. Now, however, Amanda could no longer pretend that the man who had put her in the reverse bear trap and caused her to kill her former drug dealer was not a past version of John. That John was actually a very nice person, and perhaps felt bad about the way he treated people like Amanda, and had resolved to stop when he saw her half dead on her bedroom floor.

No, that part of John was still _very_ much alive. He'd keep Amanda alive because he needed someone to carry on his work, and treat her decently to keep her from running away, but when it came down to it, he was a very evil man on a quest to purge the world of apathetic people.

The problem with John's logic, Amanda figured out all too soon, was that if he were being judged by his own criteria, he'd be the first to die. John was far too critical of others, ready to judge them by horrible means, to enjoy what remained of his life. He would die within a few years—how long he had he never told Amanda—and instead of spending that time enjoying what he had left, he had considered himself a teacher and some kind of prophet sent to spread this knowledge to the rest of the world.

The message itself was not something Amanda objected to. The application of the message, however, was much more difficult, and she could see how someone with family problems or drug problems might not be able to see value in their life. They were too distracted by what John called "the obscure details" to understand the "whole".

Still, Amanda didn't have the heart to object verbally to John's tests, and she knew that in doing so she was promoting it, encouraging it. She should have packed her things and left as soon as John told her he wanted her to be his assistant, but instead Amanda had thought of her own life and her own comfort. She knew that John wouldn't kill her for leaving him, but after experiencing that type of platonic…no, _paternal, _because what she felt for John was nothing like what she felt for Mike, even after years of not seeing him…love in her life after missing it for so long, Amanda hadn't _wanted_ to leave him. Now she knew that regardless of how much of their daily routine stayed the same, everything was different because she was actively working towards evil.

Amanda shut her eyes again, this time resolving to sleep. She'd have to get up in a few hours and help John set up the bathroom trap, and she couldn't pass through the day unnoticed if she were a sleepless zombie.

She hugged Brownie tightly as she rolled over on her side.

She lay like that for hours, sleep failing to come, but Amanda refused to open her eyes. She felt John's calloused hand on her neck, but didn't move, feigning sleep.

John laughed, not unkindly. "Amanda, I know you're awake."

Then there was no use in pretending. She sighed, turned over, and opened her eyes. They hurt from the effort of keeping them closed for what must have been hours, and she grimaced. John's face appeared slightly blurry as she let go of Brownie to rub them thoroughly, but it sharpened as the pain gradually eased.

"How'd you know?"

"You're never that motionless when you're really sleeping." John put a hand through her now short hair.

She had cut it days after agreeing to work for him, almost as an act of rebelling. She knew he loved brushing her long hair, and this was a way to keep him at bay. If he couldn't give up his sick murdering projects and demanded that she take part in them, well at least Amanda could distance herself emotionally. She'd act the same, but keep herself closed to him. Maybe she'd even become flawless at his traps, only to reveal to him at the point of his death that she would never carry on his work.

"Mmph," Amanda replied noncommittally, sitting up in bed. She felt something against her back, and gingerly removed Brownie.

John sat down next to her, smiling. "You're going to hurt her if you're not careful," he scolded.

"She's not alive."

"But you are."

Amanda suppressed a shudder. It was those comments that she hated the most. Who would defend a non living, inanimate object as a way of making a point?

He _was_ crazy.

Amanda gave a noncommittal grunt and began to smooth the mussed fur of the cat, ignoring John's eyes on her.

After a few minutes of this, John spoke. "Are you hungry?"

"Not really."

"You sure?"

"Yes."

Another pause. Then, "It's your birthday in two days."

"I know," Amanda replied.

"I'll be out today for awhile."

Amanda nodded and then looked up. "What do you need me to do about the test?" she asked pointedly.

John hesitated before replying. "I'll need you to keep testing the chains. Also the saws. I don't want them to be able to cut through the metal."

Amanda groaned. "I did that yesterday. They're fine."

John looked as though he might object, but then nodded. "All right. Then work on making the bathroom a mess. It still looks like a room in a house."

_Well, it almost is_, Amanda wanted to retort. The bathroom was located in their basement, near the room John used to test out his traps. He said it had been unused for years, so when they first started working on it, it smelled musty but not ominous. It was Amanda's job to make it look ominous, as though it were the hideout of drug dealers. She didn't see why they couldn't use the room of a previous victim, but John had been adamant about each test subject getting their own room.

She nodded. "I'll get to it," she promised.

John smiled and left the room without even saying goodbye. Amanda burned with resentment. She remained in bed until she could hear the front door close and the car start running. Then she pulled the covers over her head and went back to sleep.

Without John in the room, sleep came naturally.

A/N: Sorry for the delay. Work's been pretty crazy. Please review...I need five before I can start the next chapter.


	22. Chapter 23

A/N: I'm using first person in this chapter for a change of pace and because, when I plan it out in my head, it feels like it works better this way. If you have any thoughts about it, feel free to mention it in a review…even if it's to say don't ever do it again. 

As soon as John enters the room, he knows that Amanda hasn't been there today. It looks identical to when he last checked it, nearly a week ago. John sighs, not because he's terribly surprised at this discovery, but still irked at the setback. Hadn't Amanda promised to perform this task, this _basic_ task, hours ago?

It's been like this with her ever since John asked her to continue his work. Looking back, perhaps it's because he's been too hasty. After all, isn't gaining her trust the key to entrusting _her_ to continue with his work? Everything had been going fine, better than John could have predicted, and then he went and blurted everything out before he could consider what he was doing.

John wants to blame Jigsaw, to place the fault with his alternate personality. The cancer in his brain feels like a ticking bomb, and Jigsaw is aware of every second that passes without a confrontation with Amanda. John tells himself that Jigsaw was crazed, panicked, and this caused his lapse with Amanda. Of course, Jigsaw does not want his work to die, and John's dying without an heir would kill him. Jigsaw values life above all else. It's not that he doesn't value Amanda. He values her, but only as a means to an end. She must exist, and participate in his plan, so that his work will continue and he won't really die. Her personality, her fears, even her appearance have no effect on the unflinching Jigsaw.

Had Mark or Paul survived their tests, Jigsaw would have taken action to ensure that one of them would become his apprentice. It would have been easier if they had both survived, because then Jigsaw would be able to test their dedication and choose between the two, but this was not to be.

Perhaps it was for the best. Had they survived, they probably would refuse to work for Jigsaw. Those men were not exactly strong, but they were self righteous. They wouldn't be able to get over their immediate anger at being placed in a test, and this would lead to their downfall. Then again, Amanda's trap had been the least painful of all of them, or so Jigsaw imagined, and she was already weak enough to accept help from him. She had no other place to go.

Yes, Amanda had been weak enough to need Jigsaw's lessons, John's physical assistance, and Jigsaw's plan to find an apprentice would go off without a hitch.

So while John nurtured, Jigsaw harassed until he finally broke through and got his way. Yet even though Amanda had agreed to continue Jigsaw's work, John often felt, resentfully, that because they had acted so fast it would have been better if Mark or Paul had passed. Even now, there was Zepp, ready to learn and always willing to betray. That, of course, was his downfall. He was selfish, a parasite. One you couldn't detect at first, until he turned on you. John had benefited from Zepp's parasitic tendencies, but he didn't know how long it would be before the orderly turned on him. Both are in agreement with this. They need to get Zepp out of the picture, though John would like to keep him alive.

John unlocks the door to his house and drops the packages to the floor without thinking. Then he proceeds to climb the stairs until he reached what he now thinks of as Amanda's room even though they both use it as a place to sleep.

John gazes impassively at Amanda, sleeping with her nightgown still on, shivering in her sleep. Jigsaw wants to grab her by the wrists, yell at her, and demand she stop pouting. He wants John to claim what it due to him. Where would this insignificant drug addict be without them? How dare she belittle his work, sleep while he goes out to look for birthday gifts for the girl? Jigsaw burns with anger, but John is used to this, and looks around the room to find a way to distract his alter ego. Soon, his eyes focus on a detail that softens the killer inside.

There are no blankets on Amanda; consciously or unconsciously, she threw them on the floor. It's late April, but it's been unseasonably cold recently, and John hasn't bothered to turn on the heat. The room feels like it's forty, maybe forty-five, degrees, and John feels a pinch of remorse. Sighing, he approaches his adopted daughter slowly. John removed some of the blankets from his bed—Amanda's are now dirty and need to be washed—and lays them on her shivering torso. Aside from a few grunts in her sleep, Amanda gave no indication of being aware of John's presence.

John sighs for the second time in the proceeding ten minutes. He tucks them under her exceptionally small body which feels like ice to his touch. He lays down next to Amanda on the bed and wraps his arms around her body. Slowly, he brushed some hair out of her face, and continued to stroke her forehead long after no stray hairs fall there. Within minutes, Amanda's eyes open, and enlarge in horror as she sits up.

"What the hell are you doing?" she hisses, backing away from John.

John recognizes the unspoken question, and a pang of hurt briefly washes over him. Doesn't she know by now that he would never do something like that?

_Yes, but you did almost kill her, and in her mind they're not that different_, Jigsaw taunted.

_Shut up._

"You were cold," John explains simply.

"Doesn't mean I want _you_ warming me up," she snarls, but her actions don't match her words. Her head's pressed against John's chest, and seems intent on staying there.

"I'm sorry," John apologizes.

There's a long pause, which John breaks with speech. "Did you sleep well?"

She groans. "Until you woke me up."

The words sound harsh, but John knows that Amanda's anger, or professed anger, is a good sign. She has a rather sharp sense of humor, and he'd rather be verbally abused than stared at with her unblinking, wide eyes as though he is about to drive a knife through her face.

"Next time I'll let you freeze," he promises, cradling her head as her body retreats to beneath the blankets.

Amanda scoffs. "You wouldn't."

John nods, which is stupid because Amanda can't see him. "I'd never hurt you."

"Right." The bitterness in Amanda's voice strikes him. John visibly flinches.

"I'll turn the heat on if the weather stays like this," he promises. "It might be cold for the next few weeks, according to the weathermen."

Amanda shivers, even though she's no longer cold. "Fuck."

John shares the sentiment. He changes the subject. "Your birthday is tomorrow," he says. "I brought you some gifts." Amanda grunts noncommittally. "Most of them will be saved for tomorrow, but I have one that you might like to see today." He pauses. "Consider it a peace offering."

Amanda's eyes open suddenly. "What is it?"

John laughs. "It's by the door. Let me get it."

Amanda nods and John leaves the bed and gently picks up the box. He's glad that the creature inside hasn't betrayed him, but she had been exceptionally quiet when John visited the litter. He saw the sign on one of the side streets, and it feels like fate. The creature is free, but the owner claims that it may be small, but it's healthy.

John has poked holes in the back of the box so that she can breathe. She purred on the way home, and John needed to pick her up and calm her down, petting her for at least ten minutes, but now she seems fine. Amanda takes the box and removes the lid with a green plastic bow tied on.

She makes a noise John has never heard—it sounds like squealing. The kitten stares at Amanda with small brown eyes, eyes that are almost identical to her new owner's. The fur is a lighter brown, with white paws. She begins to meow as soon as Amanda picks her up, and before John knows it, the cat is cradled in Amanda's arms, listening to her cooing.

John stares at the two, not daring to blink. He has never seen Amanda so calm, so –dare he think it?—happy. She looks much younger, like a small child, oblivious to the rest of the world. The cat closes its eyes and she continues to make baby noises as the head rests against her chest. It purrs for a few minutes, and then falls asleep. Amanda looks up at John, smiling.

"Thank you," she whispers.

The cat appears to have broken the barriers that Jigsaw imposed. John smiles back and sits beside Amanda.

"Do you like her?"

Amanda nods vigorously. "Best gift ever," she replies. "Just look at her."

John doesn't need to look. The cat has already stolen his heart, grabbed onto it at first glance, and is now working its magic on Amanda. The cat seems to restore her old sense of trust, and even if she only forgives John and goes on with the plan because of the cat, well, it's a start.

Even Jigsaw is moved, and he marvels at the small size of the kitten.

"I think we should call her Mittens," Amanda says between petting the sleeping cat.

"That's a good name," John replies, enveloping Amanda in a hug.

She smiles back, tentatively, and Jigsaw is pleased. Now the work can begin.

Please r/r! I need five before I can start the next chappie.


	23. Chapter 24

A/N: I've been revising some of the earlier chapters, in no particular order. So far, chapters one and eight have been redone and are, I hope, better than before. I'll post notes on the next chapter I post if I've worked on any other ones, but I don't think ffn sends notifications if chapter content has been replaced. Nevertheless, if you DO read over the revised chapters, please let me know what you think. Thanks!

All Amanda had ever wanted was to be loved. She had never encountered this while growing up, and only briefly encountered it with Mike before Detective Matthews intervened. In prison, she had learned that the only way she could have control over her life was by taking drugs and cutting herself. She realized then that aiming for love, be it romantic or platonic, was a foolish quest and not something a girl with her background or status could ever achieve. Maybe rich people, even comfortable people, were able to find this, but Amanda was reduced to drugs and self destruction. When she went back to live with Liz, her sister had agreed partly out of family obligation –she knew that she was the only family Amanda had left—and mostly out of guilt. Amanda knew that Liz didn't care about Amanda any more than whether she was alive after a night of drugs and stripping. Even then, Liz's sense of obligation had its limits. She had, after all, kicked Amanda out of the apartment as soon as she heard word about Jigsaw.

Amanda couldn't say that she blamed her sister. She knew that most people would have done the same thing in those circumstances. Even she probably would have done the same thing, had it been someone she simply grew up with and, at least from Liz's perspective, was always causing problems.

It was ironic that the test Jigsaw had put her in resulted in John offering her a home. With John, she knew that he cared about her—at least more than Liz or her parents had—and she had a future beyond drug addiction. She tried to tell herself that the work Jigsaw was doing was actually for the benefit of mankind, and that she had once been the scum that Jigsaw despised. He had told her, over and over, that it wasn't about how many good things you did in life, or what evil you hadn't done. It was about whether or not you appreciated what you had. Amanda hadn't, according to Jigsaw, and so she had to endure the reverse bear trap as a wake up call. Having survived that, Jigsaw clearly felt that Amanda would make a good apprentice.

Except Amanda knew that had Liz never found out about Jigsaw, she would have remained in the apartment, terrified, for the rest of her life. Forget appreciating what she had; Amanda would always be on the lookout for a cloaked man hiding in the shadows. She'd wake up screaming, vividly remembering Jigsaw's test, and would not be able to recover. She'd never tell Liz what happened, and perhaps Amanda would have died from the same drug overdose, but at a later period in time.

This was so obvious to Amanda, yet John refused to see it. Aside from placing her in the trap, his actions towards her had never been anything but caring. She knew that she could have been happy living with him, even with the knowledge that he was dying of cancer. Hell, Amanda could find him painkillers, learn how to cook, and do his laundry. She knew that she'd be able to take care of him, in time, because she had already begun to love John as a father figure.

Asking her to take over in his work, however, was asking too much. Amanda had no intentions of continuing the traps after John died. She just had to pretend that she would, and learn everything that John taught her as carefully as though she would follow in his footsteps.

She lay on her side, pondering all of this, as Mittens licked herself and then settled down for a nap. Amanda envied the kitten. Animals had such limited intelligence, and she was willing to bet that Mittens' thought process at that moment was "tired…sleep". She probably didn't even remember her cat mother, and the cat mother would soon forget about her child. It was cruel, what humans did, separating animals from their parents, but scientists and specialists claimed that if given enough time with their mother, the animal would be fine in the long run.

She wondered what scientists would say about the effects of Jigsaw's tests. Temporary insanity, acute paranoia, but ultimately the subject goes on to live a happy and fulfilling life?

Amanda nearly snorted at that.

Yet she still couldn't hate John. She still cared about him. She still felt grateful to him, in debt to him. After all, putting her in the reverse bear trap had helped her, though not in the way he had expected. Amanda knew that her life was better now than it would have been had she not encountered Jigsaw.

As angry as she had felt towards John over the past few weeks, she still looked up to him as a father figure. Granted, her biological father had not set a good example, and Amanda did not grow up having any other male role models. Perhaps she felt attached to John because he had become a mentor to her.

Even though he had tried to kill her.

Amanda yawned, tired of thinking, and moved to the desk John had set aside for her. Stacked to one side were several books with puzzling titles, each looking like they had seen better days. John had said that Amanda would have to study these books in order to understand the basics of his techniques for understanding human behavior and making the torture devices. He gave her homework assignments on a regular basis. One book was devoted to the study of engineering, and Amanda almost fell asleep reading it. Often, she'd read a page from one of the books, not understand anything she read, slam the book shut and mutter a few choice obscenities before John would come in and explain everything Amanda had read in such a way that she could understand. Later, Amanda would reread the same page and, having some background knowledge, find herself less confused.

She wished that John would give her the lecture first, or –even better—omit the book entirely. He had refused to do either without giving legitimate explanations except that it would help Amanda in the long run.

Amanda wanted to hit John when he talked like that.

Slowly, though, she was beginning to understand more. She could read a page from the book and have an idea as to what it was discussing. Not all of the words felt like they were written in another language, just sixty to seventy percent.

At least they didn't _just_ study all day. That only took a few hours, and most of the time came out of Amanda's struggle to understand the reading. During the rest of the time, John would instruct her but with easier tasks. She was learning how to cook his favorite foods, and then some that he didn't enjoy but wouldn't have adverse effects when he took certain medications on specific days of the week. They still went on walks, silent some of the time, but mostly discussing things that had nothing to do with John's cancer or his obsession with testing people. She also revealed information that proved that, even before the bear trap test, there was more to her life than drug addiction.

Sometimes they'd go out for a meal and, because the weather had been nice lately, eat outside and watch other people, trying to pick up on conversations. John always seemed to know, even before anyone spoke, what the topic of choice was. He'd watch as people walked with their pets and interacted with them, which turned out to be a mixture of baby talk and reprimands.

At night they usually slept in their own beds, but sometimes John would join Amanda in hers. He always seemed to know when he would be welcome or, at least, not kicked out. He never tried anything non platonic, of course, but would often wrap his arms around her body as though he were protecting her from unknown forces. Amanda would wake up well rested and deliciously warm. But she needed to be in a certain mood to let herself surrender to John, and more often than not she was tired and somewhat irritable, though she didn't have a particular reason. Even if John hadn't done anything that day to anger her, she could always blame the feeling on the sentiment that John didn't really care about her and was just using her to further his own ends.

Sometimes, her thoughts led her to believe that John wasn't even human, even though she knew from firsthand experience that this was far from the case. A robot couldn't die from cancer, and John's time was limited.

Amanda realized she had been off in a trance this whole time. John was still watching her, still sitting across from her. His face looked concerned, and he has a hand around her shoulder. Amanda blinked, not realizing it was even there.

"Amanda?"

He had been calling her name several times.

Amanda shook her head. "Sorry. Just thinking." Her voice sounded soft and weak. She tried to sit up and John helped her, as though she was the one with the life threatening disease.

Still, it's nice to know that he still cares about her.

"I'm sorry," Amanda repeated. Implying about not doing any kind of work that day, of being in a perpetual bad mood for the last several weeks, and generally just trying to make his life difficult. It can't have been easy for him, as she knows all too well.

John shook his head slightly. "I have more things for you, but they'll have to wait until tomorrow," John said. "Including a very delicious looking cake I made earlier."

Amanda's eyes widened with interest. "Cake?"

John smiled. "Yes, vanilla."

Amanda's stomach, having not had anything to eat in nearly twenty-four hours, growled at that. Amanda glared at her stomach for betraying her.

John picked her up. "Come on, kitten. Time for dinner," he said, carrying her. "Afterwards, we can play Scrabble. Then," he added, smiling, "I'll read to you, since I'm sure you didn't pick up any of your books today."

Amanda groaned at that. "Not engineering…"

"No, I was thinking recreational reading. Fiction." He paused. "Have you ever heard of the Harry Potter books?"

That's the end of this chappie. Next one will probably deal with the bathroom test, and should be longer. I need five reviews before I can write it, though! points to the review button


	24. Chapter 25

A/N: My apologies for taking way too long to update

A/N: My apologies for taking way too long to update. Lack of motivation had a lot to do with it, but my computer also decided to break down several weeks ago. As a result, I lost everything because I was not smart enough to back up my files. Not that I had written much for this chapter, but I had worked on other chapters and other fics, so the whole thing was just a disincentive to keep going. Anyway, I will try to follow my rule of writing the next chapter once the previous one has five reviews, and keep the story as much in canon as possible. Can't say more without giving spoilers or promises about future chapters. Unrelated question: Does anyone know Jill's age in Saw IV and/or how long she and John were married? Thanks!

Amanda was improving at Scrabble. It wasn't that her words were particularly complicated, but she knew how to make the most of her letters and, more importantly, the double word score spaces. She rarely scored major points on a triple word score, but John had a knack for being able to use that space to his advantage when he received the high scoring letters, so she made it a point to block the space whenever possible. Better to get fifteen points for a word like "tease" than have him receive at least fifty for a word like "exist".

When she played, she was merciless. Winning meant something to do, and every game Amanda lost reflected a failure on her abilities. John had told her that she was too emotional—meaning that after he scored fifty or so points, she'd get angry and get a particularly low score for her next word even if a better choice had been available—and it certainly worsened her chances at beating him. She had to remain calm, collected, and, most importantly, not gloat too much after getting a high score or winning against him. John wasn't vindictive, but somehow, he always won the next game if she seemed too happy.

John, on the other hand, had an excellent poker face. Amanda imagined that if he were the type to gamble, and they were to travel to a casino, everyone would be fooled by his game. He wasn't unemotional—rather, his emotions might not reflect the situation at hand. He could look depressed right before scoring seventy points, or excited after receiving ten. For this reason, John was impossible to read and impossible to trust. His facial expressions meant nothing because he was so good at manipulating them regardless of the situation.

John told Amanda that her face often gave her away. This was problematic, not just for board games, but for when she'd be involved in tests. He wanted to make her his apprentice, and she couldn't appear on camera and letting some information slip that was not to be known. John's tests always contained pieces of information that were not immediately revealed. Amanda's, of course, had been that the "dead cellmate" was not really dead.

Not that this would have made much of a difference. It wasn't like he felt anything, or had a chance of living if Amanda died.

In the bathroom test, the hidden piece of information would be that Adam would have the key to the shackles in front of him. Not surgically implanted, as John planned to do with another test subject, but on his body. If Adam remained calm in the water, he could collect the key, unlock himself, and leave.

If he panicked, there was a very real chance that the key would go down the drain and his only hope of escape would be cutting off his foot.

John had taken great precautions to ensure that the hacksaws he would provide the subjects with would _not_ be strong enough to break the chains.

The doctor's fate would be linked with Adam's. If the key went down the drain, then the only way _he _could escape would be by following the rules of the game and killing Adam. He might want to cut off his own foot, but surely he would know that he'd die of blood loss before leaving the building, much less finding his wife and child.

Amanda had met Adam, briefly, when she feigned that she lived in his building. He seemed nice enough, a little like Mike. Or how Mike had been. Over ten years had passed since she'd seen him, and for all Amanda knew, he could be dead.

Or the head of some gang specializing in smuggling illegal drugs in and out of the country.

Amanda had mentioned her misgivings to John after meeting Adam.

"Why him?"

Blunt. Much like John.

"He's a voyeur. He doesn't live."

"So if he's tortured enough, he will?"

John had nodded sagely. "If he survives."

"He seems okay."

"He doesn't use drugs or plant false evidence on people," John admitted, "but he uses his talent to incriminate others. He takes pictures of people cheating on their spouse."

"Don't they have the right to know?"

"That's _all_ he does, Amanda."

By the look on his face, Amanda knew it would be pointless to continue the conversation. She just hoped that he'd find the key to the chains before it fell down the drain.

She couldn't fault John's logic, but she questioned his methods. How could he know if someone really wanted to live? Maybe the task he gave them was beyond their reach. He wasn't omniscient.

John's response had been that if someone wanted to live, _no_ task should be beyond them. Failing a test was equivalent to giving up, which was equivalent to suicide. If someone died, it was their fault for not wanting to live.

Still, there was a big difference between John's "not wanting to live" and not wanting to be tested in such an extreme way. Amanda grudgingly admitted that the reverse bear trap had been like a pill or injection. It didn't cure her but it helped. It showed her where she stood with the world.

It made her proud to know that she had survived. That she had wanted it more than others, who had given up. For this reason, _she'd_ be the one to continue John's work after he died. She'd be able to judge people, test how much pain they could withstand, and see who was worthy to live.

All while standing behind the camera, safe in the knowledge that she had gone through the same thing, she had survived, and she wouldn't get caught.

John had too many friends on the inside.

It made her feel conflicted to know this was her future. John had, at most, five years. She'd have decades. She'd choose the lowest of low, and inflict the worst possible pain. If they survived, and she doubted they would, they would admire her as well as fear her. She would turn the most hardened criminals into saints. She'd have fun doing it, too.

Still, it would be a lonely life. If she could find Mike, that could help. On the other hand, John had left his wife in order to pursue his calling.

Not that John hadn't loved Jill. It was just that she was part of his old life, and involving her would make things too messy. Amanda was different—she was a daughter to him. He was teaching her the tools of a trade that he would pass onto her. Jill had just been some woman he thought was hot.

Before the miscarriage, anyway.

Amanda stared at her letters, ready to make the next play.


End file.
